Ann lay flat on her back, her body perfectly still, her eyes fixed on the ceiling above her.
White. Clean. Cracked faintly at the corners like a spider web frozen in time. She stared at it without blinking. No tears. No smile. No tremor. Just… emptiness. The kind that comes when even pain gets tired of screaming. Her hands rested at her sides, fingers loose, lifeless. Her chest rose and fell steadily, mechanically, as though breathing itself had become a habit rather than a choice. This is what peace looks like, she thought vaguely. Or maybe this is what's left after everything else is gone. A knock sounded at the door. Once. She didn't move.
Twice. Her eyes shifted slightly toward the sound, but her body remained still. The door opened anyway. "Mrs Author," the familiar voice of the doctor called gently. Ann pushed herself up slowly, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Her movements were automatic, rehearsed. She had learned the routine. The doctor entered first, clipboard in hand, followed closely by the nurse, who wheeled in the small tray of medications.
"Good day, Mrs Author," the doctor said with a polite smile. "Good day, ma'am," the nurse added softly. Ann nodded once. "Good day, doctor," she said. "Good day, nurse." Her voice was flat, emotionless but not rude. The doctor took a seat opposite her, crossing one leg over the other. "How are you holding up today?" he asked. Ann stared at a spot just beside his shoulder. " I'm still here," she replied. The nurse paused briefly, then continued arranging the pills and syringe.
The doctor smiled faintly. "Of course you are." A silence followed. "Did you eat your meals well today?" he asked after a moment.
Ann hesitated. "I tried." That was a lie. She had pushed the tray aside after two spoonfuls. Food tasted like dust now.
She wished, oh, how she wished that he would stop talking. That he would do what the nurse always did: prepare the medication, administer it, and leave her alone with her thoughts. Why do you doctors always want words? she thought irritably. Why can't silence be enough? As though he heard the thought echoing in her mind, the doctor glanced at the nurse and nodded.
"Alright," he said. "Let's proceed." Relief washed through Ann quietly. The nurse stepped forward, efficient and gentle, swabbing her arm. Ann didn't flinch when the needle pierced her skin. Pain had long lost its effect on her. The doctor watched her closely as the medication was administered, his eyes studying her face, her posture, her stillness. When it was done, the nurse cleared the tray and stepped toward the door. The doctor rose as well. They were almost out when... "Mrs Author." Ann looked up. "Yes?" she replied. The doctor turned back fully, his expression no longer clinical. It was serious now. Concerned. "I've been meaning to ask you something," he said.
Ann's fingers curled slightly against the bedsheet. "Yes?" she repeated. "Why are you really here?" The question hung in the air like smoke. Ann blinked slowly. "Why I'm here?" she echoed. "Yes," the doctor said. "It's not as obvious as people think." She tilted her head slightly. "Isn't it?" He shook his head. "No. It's not." He took a step closer.
"You are physically fit," he continued. "Your vitals are excellent. Neurologically, there is no impairment. Mentally..." he paused, choosing his words carefully, "you are grieving, yes. But you are coherent. Rational. Self-aware." Ann watched his lips move without interruption. "You're going through a psychological phase," he went on, "but even that, Mrs Author, is not enough to justify prolonged admission here." Ann's brows lifted slightly, a mask of mild surprise crossing her face. She said nothing. So the doctor continued. "When your husband first contacted this hospital," he said, "he sounded… desperate." Ann's eyes darkened almost imperceptibly. "He sounded like you had completely lost touch with reality," the doctor added. "Like you were in danger. Like we needed to intervene immediately."
Ann swallowed. "But then," he said, "you never showed up." She looked down at her hands. "And when you finally did," he finished quietly, "you came in calm. Composed. Fully aware of where you were and why." Silence. The nurse shifted uncomfortably near the door. "Doctor," Ann said suddenly. "Yes?" "I accepted to be here." His brows furrowed. "I wasn't compelled," she continued evenly. "If that's what you're insinuating." "I wasn't" "I chose this," she cut in. "I'm here because I don't feel strong enough. Mentally." Her voice wavered slightly for the first time. "I'm here because right now, this feels like the safest place for me to be." The doctor studied her carefully. "May I ask you something?" Ann said. "Of course." She raised her eyes to meet his. "Have you ever lost a child?" The doctor froze. The nurse looked down at the floor. After a long pause, he shook his head slowly. "No," he admitted. "I haven't." Ann nodded once. "Then you see," she said quietly. He waited. "I lost my child," she continued. "I buried him. I watched the world move on while mine stopped." Her voice cracked. "I just want to be away," she said. "Away from anything. Away from everything that reminds me of him." She inhaled shakily.
"Is that not allowed?" The doctor's shoulders slumped slightly. "I understand, Mrs Author," he said softly. "I do." He turned toward the door. "I'll leave you now." The door closed behind them with a soft click. Ann lay back slowly, staring at the ceiling once more. Her face returned to its blank state but her mind was racing. She didn't even know whom to trust. She didn't know if she had answered correctly. She didn't know if the doctor was working for or against her. It isn't time. Not yet. She closed her eyes. No one will ruin this. I will get all the information I need. And this time, She would not be caught unprepared.