The hospital corridor was quieter than usual. No code blues. No gurneys clattering past. Just the hollow sound of Zainab's heels striking polished tiles as she walked down the hall she had once stormed through with certainty. Now, every step felt like walking into a memory—and through fire.
The board had retreated, silenced by evidence and public outrage. The news of the Severance Clause went viral, sparking outrage within the medical community. Anonymous testimonials began to surface—stories of talented professionals mysteriously dismissed. The hospital's name was dragged through every major health outlet.
Yet, there Zainab was. Not fired. Not erased. Not forgotten. Standing in the ashes of a system that had tried to consume her.
As she approached the ICU, she paused. The blinds were drawn. The same ICU where her mentor had taken his last breath three years ago—a death she'd been told was due to stress and illness. But now she knew better.
She opened the door gently.
Inside, Ayoola sat beside a patient—an older man, sedated, breathing with effort. It was Dr. Musa—long believed to have moved abroad. But now she knew: he had tried to fight, just like her. And they had silenced him. Not by firing him—but by damaging him.
Ayoola stood up. "He regained consciousness briefly last night. Called your name."
Zainab's voice faltered. "How long was he here?"
"Since the scandal broke. They transferred him back. Quietly. Like he was cargo."
She turned toward the window. "They've done worse than we imagined."
Ayoola nodded. "But the world is watching now."
Back in her office, she sat before a stack of letters. Some were from lawyers. Others from doctors around the country offering support. And one—just one—was from her father.
She opened it slowly.
Zee,
I watched your interview. I saw my daughter fight. You reminded me of your mother that day—sharp tongue, soft heart. I never said it enough, but I'm proud of you.
Don't stop. The fire that tried to consume you only revealed what you're made of.
Love,
Dad
Tears filled her eyes. For years, she had doubted if he ever believed in her. The words were late, but they had arrived.
Two Weeks Later
The hospital had changed. Faces were different. Administrators resigned. Policies rewritten. Whistleblower protections were introduced. And most importantly, Zainab was now heading the Ethics Oversight Committee—a position she didn't ask for, but one the people trusted her to lead.
She stood before a crowd of interns and residents, giving a lecture about integrity in medicine.
"You will be tempted to remain silent when wrong things happen around you. Don't. Medicine isn't just about saving lives—it's about protecting dignity, including your own."
Someone raised a hand. "But Dr. Zainab, what if the system punishes you for speaking out?"
She smiled faintly. "Then make enough noise that the system starts listening."
That Evening
Ijeoma brought a small box to her office.
"What's this?" Zainab asked.
"Something you should have received long ago. It's from Dr. Musa's personal drawer."
Inside the box were letters, documents, and one small flash drive.
She inserted it into her laptop.
A video opened—grainy, but audible.
Dr. Musa's voice filled the room.
"If you're watching this, it means they didn't succeed. You must protect the future. The Severance Clause isn't the only one. Look deeper. There's more."
The screen went black.
Zainab leaned back in her chair.
It wasn't over.
But for the first time, she was ready.
She opened her drawer, pulled out a notepad, and began writing:
"Salt In Her Wounds – Volume Two: The Silent Protocol."
One Month Later
Zainab sat in a dim conference room, facing a tribunal of Ministry of Health representatives. A newly formed inquiry panel had invited her to present everything she had uncovered. Behind her were stacks of case files, printed emails, hospital memos, and anonymous testimonies.
"What you're suggesting," said one of the officials, "is that this hospital operated a secret expulsion protocol targeting whistleblowers and ethical objectors?"
"Yes," she replied firmly. "And they weren't acting alone. There's a network. Other hospitals. Possibly international affiliations. The Severance Clause was just one thread."
The panel was silent.
She leaned forward. "If we don't fix this, the next Zainab won't survive it. I nearly didn't."
A junior official cleared his throat. "And what do you suggest we do?"
She looked each of them in the eye. "You empower the truth. You make it law. You punish silence that comes at the price of human lives."
That night, she sat at Dr. Musa's bedside.
His eyes fluttered open.
"You came back," he whispered.
"I never left."
He reached weakly for her hand. "They almost broke me. But you… you shattered the wall."
She smiled through tears. "Now we build something better."
Outside the room, Ijeoma waited with another box—this one marked confidential. Inside were documents that linked the Severance Clause to foreign grant-funding agencies.
"It's global," Ijeoma whispered.
Zainab looked down the hallway. The fire wasn't over.
But neither was she.
She walked away with the box in hand—toward a war worth fighting.