It was early morning in the recovery ward of St. Mark’s Hospital. The air was thick with the scent of antiseptics and the quiet hum of machines. I was on my way to the nurse’s station when I saw her—a fellow nurse slipping out of a patient’s room, her hand resting protectively over a small but unmistakable bump beneath her scrubs.
“We’ve been told to keep it under wraps.”
Her voice was low, almost a whisper, barely above the sound of the ticking clock on the wall. There was something in her eyes, a mixture of fear and resignation, that made me pause.
“You’re not the first, are you?” I asked, my voice equally hushed.
“No. And probably not the last.”
She walked away, leaving me standing there in the dimly lit corridor, the weight of her words heavy in the air.
Read more on the next page ⬇️⬇️⬇️
