The alarm on my phone went off earlier than usual, dragging me out of a sleep filled with remorse for not having done more for Arturo. With my uniform as my only internal reference, I closed my bedroom door, holding my digital access card and cell phone. No gown or physical notebooks: everything was handled through the internal network.
As I walked down to the parking lot, I couldn't shake the suspicion that someone had altered the signature of the doctor who signed the report on the procedure following Arturo's cardiac arrest, a subtle but poignant indication of a possible cover-up.
My car connected to the hospital app, automatically registering my arrival. Every traffic light was a reminder of the slowness of digital bureaucracy: pending approvals, queued workflows, and unanswered messages. Instead of physical windows, I accessed the internal portal, selecting Arturo Figueroa's file and uploading my request for reopening as a digital ticket:
Subject: Request for reopening - Figueroa case
Description: Current clinical records do not satisfactorily explain the causes of death. I request a thorough review of medical records, metadata, and video surveillance footage.
I sent the ticket and received a tracking number and automatic confirmation of receipt. The interface notified me that the estimated response time was one business week.
I ordered coffee using the app; the tray arrived without any printed receipts. I sat by a window and opened my tablet, where I reviewed the system logs: every access, every modification. I mentally noted the irregularities for my report, without writing them down on paper, picked up my cup, and walked back to my desk.
From my workstation, I checked the status of the ticket in the SGD. There was still no update. I opened my corporate email account and marked the message as "pending follow-up." Each click represented a gesture of resistance.
At 11:00, I decided I had to try to speed things up a bit. I couldn't just sit idly by while the world continued as if Arturo had never existed. With that conviction, I sent an encrypted message to an assistant in the Processes Department:
Alert: Prioritize ticket #VG-2025-0815 for internal review.
I received a confirmation emoji and an "I'll do my best" as an automatic reply.
With my tablet in hand, I approached the nursing area. There I saw Veronica and Tomás sharing a digital file on a shared screen where Veronica pointed out fragments of text and Tomás added comments. The intimate gesture of sharing passwords and codes caused a slight twinge of annoyance, but I decided to ignore it; it was not the time for such considerations.
I continued on my way, aware that even in the digital age, loyalties were negotiated outside of systems.
At 2:00 p.m., I had a virtual meeting with the Deputy Director of Processes.
I entered the virtual conference room and found Germán Parra on the screen.
"Dr. Balmaceda," he said in a measured voice. "Your ticket is being processed and a resolution is expected in seven business days."
"I understand the timing," I replied. "Is there anything I can do to speed up the internal flow?"
"Your request is complete," Parra said. "All that remains is to wait for the technical analysis."
The call ended without further ado. Instead of losing my temper, I turned off the camera and took a deep breath. I hate the damn hospital bureaucracy.
I opened my ticket history and added a technical note with more details about Arturo's episodes of confusion and delirium. Every byte entered was another piece in my mosaic.
I opened the encrypted chat again and sent a direct message to Tomás:
Question: Have you noticed any suspicious activity in the autopsy records?
The "typing..." box appeared, followed by "Nothing alarming, but I'm keeping an eye on it." Even so, his veiled response offered a glimmer of hope.
As I put my phone away, my mind wandered: could I really trust Tomás? His discretion had been impeccable, but now I wondered if his interest was professional or if there was something more between us. The knowing glance with Veronica, the subtle gestures... Were they signs of shared loyalty or of a bond that left me out? In addition, the answer he gave me when we met was still on my mind. We don't know each other formally. What did he mean?
The doubt lingered in my mind. I knew that in order to move forward, I would need his support, but talking to him meant exposing my weakness, sharing my suspicions without having all the pieces. In the end, I decided it would be best to be direct.
I gathered my things and opened my calendar: the next day, at the end of my shift, I would talk to Tomás face to face. I needed clarity.
Another workday was coming to an end, so I packed up my station and left the hospital. As I turned the corner of the parking lot, I saw him standing there with a jacket folded over his arm.
"Hi, Alma." His voice surprised me, and the fact that he called me Alma and not by my last name sounded somewhat unsettling but sexy coming from his voice.
"Tomás," I replied, my heart racing. "I didn't expect to see you."
"I thought we could have a coffee. There's a place nearby, just outside." He smiled softly. "We can talk about the case... or whatever you want."
His invitation was a bridge I couldn't ignore. I nodded silently and followed him.
The place was intimate: dim lights, soft music. We sat across from each other.
"Thanks for inviting me," I said. "I need to know who I can trust."
Tomás tilted his head, his hands fiddling with his coffee cup. His eyes showed interest, but he barely smiled.
"I want to help you," he said in a measured voice. "But I don't know if I'm ready to get so involved."
The tension in his tone made me cringe a little.
"I understand this can be complicated," he continued, his brow slightly furrowed. "I just want to make sure I don't cross any lines."
My throat went dry.
"I just need your support to review those records," I explained. "I'm not asking for anything else."
He nodded, hesitating slightly before leaning forward.
"I'll do what I can," he finally said. "But I need you to trust me, even though I'm still deciding if I want to be a part of this."
The aroma of coffee and Tomás's hesitant gaze intensified the tension. That mixture of interest and doubt made him more human, and at the same time, more captivating.
We remained silent, sharing a space where uncertainty intertwined with attraction. Every gesture held the promise of a fragile alliance, forged in the internal deliberation of both of us.
As I left the place, the night air enveloped me in a gentle cold that contrasted with the warmth of the café. I walked slowly, my thoughts swirling in my head, remembering when Claudia had told me that sometimes desire and intimacy can exist without involving feelings, that the body finds comfort where the mind does not risk the heart. That phrase echoed in my mind: could I allow myself something like that with Tomás, without reopening the wound of my last love?
I remembered the days when I trusted too much, when his empty promises took away my ability to believe. My chest tightened as I recalled that betrayal: sleepless nights, silent tears, a longing for something real that never came.
Even so, something in Tomás's gaze, his honest doubt and restrained reserve, awakened a different longing in me: the possibility of a bond without overwhelming expectations, where trust is built step by step. I tried to organize my thoughts: I could explore that closeness without the pressure of deep feelings, protect myself with emotional barriers... or take a risk again.
As I walked through the door of my apartment, I took off my jacket and dropped my bag next to the armchair. I lit a candle in the living room, seeking a warm light to calm my agitation, sat by the window, and looked at the reflection of my own silhouette in the glass.
The phone vibrated on the counter: it was Claudia.
"Any news on the case?" she asked enthusiastically.
I briefly told her about the outcome of the virtual meeting with Parra, the seven-business-day deadline, and my uncertainty about the next steps. I also mentioned what I saw today in the nursing station: Veronica and Tomás sharing a digital file with knowing glances, a detail that sparked my jealousy and increased my doubts about their loyalty.
"Wow," Claudia said after listening to me. "That sounds complicated."
There was a brief silence before she added:
"And what do you think about Tomás?"
I explained about the coffee, his reserve, my doubts about his involvement, and the tension I felt in his gaze.
"If I were you, I'd go for it," she confessed with a knowing chuckle. "But you must also remember that your body and your decisions belong to you; no one else has the right to dictate your limits or judge your desire. The important thing is that you set the rules."
His warning made me reflect: it wasn't just about protecting my heart, but about asserting my autonomy and empowering myself every step of the way.
"Thanks, Clau," I whispered. "You were right."
I hung up and closed my eyes for a moment, letting the certainty of my decision-making power guide me in what was to come.