His mother boarded the available flight for that week. Her daughter picked her up from the airport. After freshening up, they both went to the hospital. The hospital doors slid open and Adewale's mother rushed in. The moment she saw her son standing in the hallway, shoulders slumped, eyes red from sleepless nights, her heart clenched.
"My son" she whispered, wrapping him in a mother's embrace. He held onto her like a child again, his composure breaking. "She hasn't opened her eyes, Mama," he choked, voice muffled against her shoulder. "The doctors said she's in a coma." His mother drew back, holding his face between her palms. "Listen to me, my child. This is the time to stand strong, for her, the baby and yourself. The God who gave you this child will not let Amoke's light go out. Do you hear me?" He nodded weakly, though doubt gnawed at his heart. She took his hand and led him to the ward. Inside, she stopped at the foot of Amoke's bed, staring at the still figure of the young woman she had yet to fully know. Tubes and wires hummed softly around her, yet her face seemed almost peaceful, as though she was only asleep. The older woman's eyes glistened. "My daughter," she murmured, stepping closer, "You will rise from this bed. You will nurse your child with your own hands. You will not leave us." Her voice trembled, but her words carried faith. He stood beside her, gripping Amoke's hand more firmly. In that moment, the hospital room was heavy with silence yet it was a silence filled with prayers, love, and a desperate hope that the longest night would not last forever.
The ward grew unusually quiet after her husband and his mother left with the newborn. For the first time since Amoke's delivery, the room was stripped of its warmth. Only the soft beeping of machines and the faint hum of the air conditioner remained. Her sister-in-law sat by the bed, legs crossed, eyes fixed on Amoke's pale face. For a long while, she said nothing and just stared, lips pressed tightly together. Then, with a mocking chuckle, she leaned closer.
"So this is how strong you thought you were?" she whispered. "Lying here like a lifeless doll while everyone fusses over you." Her fingers drummed lightly on the metal bed rail. "I warned you, didn't I? You came from nowhere and thought you could take my brother's world. And now look at you, silent, weak and useless." She glanced toward the crib that had been wheeled out earlier, her expression hardening. "Even that child, don't think she will tie you to this family. If you leave, it will be better for everyone." She paused, studying Amoke's face as though expecting her to flinch or fight back but Amoke lay motionless, eyes closed, caught between worlds. A slow smile crept across the sister-in-law's lips as she leaned back in the chair, satisfied, the room thick with her words. Outside, the night deepened, but inside Amoke's mind, shadows stirred, echoing with fragments of voices and memories she couldn't yet piece together.
Inside the darkness of her coma, Amoke's mind began to replay scenes that weren't from her present life. She was in another room but smaller and dimly lit. A younger version of herself was sitting on a chair as a sharp, commanding voice thundered above her.
"You can't even give my son a child! Useless woman! What good are you in this house?" The figure came into focus, it was her mother-in-law but not the gentle, expectant grandmother waiting to see her grandchild in this life. This was the mother-in-law from before. Cold, unforgiving and unyielding.
Amoke clutched her chest, feeling the same stab of pain she once buried. She wanted to scream, "But I have a child now! I am not barren anymore!" Yet the voice of the past drowned her, pulling her deeper. Then, another scene flickered, her daughter, grown, smiling faintly in the distance. Amoke and a man were proud of the lady she had become. The child she had raised in silence, with scars hidden behind her smile. The vision filled Amoke with both warmth and sorrow, reminding her of what was lost, what was broken, and what she still longed to heal.
Back in the hospital room, her sister-in-law sat smugly by the bed, unaware of the storm raging within Amoke. "You'll never win," she whispered, though deep inside, unease gnawed at her. Amoke's spirit was fighting, not just for herself, but for the child she had just brought into this world.
The next morning, her husband walked into the hospital room, his steps heavy but determined. He had left the baby in his mother's care, knowing she would watch over the child like a hawk. Now, all his heart was fixed on Amoke. By her bedside, his sister sat slouched in the chair, scrolling idly through her phone. She glanced up and forced a small smile. "You're back."
"I couldn't rest," he murmured, moving past her. His eyes went straight to Amoke's still body. Gently, he sat by her side and reached for her hand. It was warm but limp, her fingers curled in silence. "Amoke," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, "it's me. I'm here." His thumb stroked her palm slowly, almost pleading for a response. "I don't care how long it takes, you'll come back to me. You have to. Our child is waiting for you. I'm waiting for you."
He leaned closer, resting his forehead lightly against her hand. For a moment, silence filled the room. Then so faintly, it could have been imagined, a single tear slipped from the corner of Amoke's eye.
His heart jolted. He raised his head quickly, staring at her face. "Amoke? Did you just…?" His sister shifted uneasily in her seat. "You're seeing things. The doctors said movements and reactions like that don't mean anything." But he wasn't listening. His grip tightened on Amoke's hand as hope flooded him. "No, I know what I saw." His voice softened to a vow. "You hear me, love? You're not alone. Not then, not now. You're coming back to me. You will."
This time, he thought he felt the faintest twitch in her fingers. His heart leapt. Behind him, his sister clenched her jaw, her nails digging into her palm. For the first time, a shadow of fear flickered across her face.
His heart still pounding, he sprang to his feet. He wasn't going to ignore what he had just witnessed. Without a second thought, he released her hand gently and hurried toward the door.
"I'm getting the doctor," he said firmly, his voice filled with urgency. His sister jumped up from her seat. "Wait, are you sure? What if you're wrong? What if it was just nothing?" He turned sharply, his eyes blazing with conviction. "I know what I saw. I won't gamble with her life."
Before she could protest further, he was already down the hallway, his footsteps echoing against the tiled floor. Nurses looked up as he passed, sensing the desperation in his stride. He stopped only when he reached the doctor's office, nearly breathless. "Doctor!" he burst out. "Please, you need to come. I think she responded. Amoke, she cried, and her hand moved. You have to see her now."
The doctor's brows lifted, a hint of surprise crossing his face. He stood at once, grabbing his stethoscope. "Alright, let's go. Show me." Together, they rushed back toward the room, his heart hammering with a mixture of dread and hope. Behind them, a nurse followed quickly, ready with her chart. Inside, his sister sat stiffly, her eyes darting from Amoke's still form to the door as they entered. She forced a smile. "Doctor, I don't think anything really happened" But he cut her off, moving straight to Amoke's side. "Check her, please. I'm not mistaken." The doctor leaned over Amoke, his hands steady as he examined her. He watched her breathing, tested her reflexes, and then carefully wiped the corner of her eye. A fresh tear glistened there. He paused, glancing at him. "You're right. This is a positive sign." his chest tightened as relief washed through him. "She's fighting," he whispered, his eyes brimming with tears. "She's really fighting." The doctor nodded gently. "It doesn't mean she's fully conscious yet, but it shows her mind and body are still responsive. This is encouraging." he bent again, clasping her hand with renewed hope. "Keep fighting, Amoke. I'm right here. Don't let go."
"You must not give up on her," the doctor said gently. "She's showing signs of response. What she needs now is more than medicine, it's connection. Talk to her. Remind her she's loved, remind her she's safe. The mind often hears what the body cannot show." He nodded quickly, his grip tightening. "I'll talk to her every moment if that's what it takes." "Yes," the doctor continued, his tone firm but encouraging. "Your voice can be an anchor for her. Speak of familiar things, joyful things, your life together, your child. Sometimes, it is the sound of a loved one that guides a patient back." His eyes brimmed with a mix of gratitude and determination. "Thank you, doctor. I'll do exactly that." The doctor gave a reassuring smile. "I'll continue to monitor her closely. For now, stay with her. Don't let her feel alone." As the doctor left the room, he turned back to Amoke, brushing his thumb gently across her knuckles. He leaned close, his voice tender and steady. "You hear that, my love? The doctor says you can hear me. So listen closely…" He swallowed hard, forcing back the lump in his throat. "Your little one is waiting for you at home. Mama is holding her, but she needs his mother's touch. And I" his voice cracked softly, "I need you more than anything. Please, Amoke… come back to me." Behind him, his sister shifted uncomfortably, her forced calm beginning to crack. As he bent over Amoke, whispering words of love and encouragement, his sister stood by the corner of the room, arms tightly folded. Outwardly, her face remained calm, almost blank. But inside, her thoughts were restless, colliding against each other like waves in a storm. "Why won't she just stay down? she thought bitterly, her eyes narrowing at Amoke's still face. Even lying there, weak and silent, she somehow manages to draw all the attention. My brother hasn't even rested properly since this started. He hovers over her like she's some rare treasure." Now, seeing Amoke lying there after childbirth stirred a gnawing unease. The thought burned like fire. If she wakes up, she will only become stronger in his heart. Her gaze darted to her brother, who now gently stroked Amoke's hand, whispering promises that even she, standing a few feet away, could hear. For the first time, fear crept into her heart, not just resentment. What if she does wake up? What if she remembers?
She bit her lip hard, forcing her expression back to neutrality.