As Mr. Balogun and his children approached the doctor’s office, Auntie Funke hurried up to them, her eyes clouded with worry. She glanced sharply at Mr. Balogun.

“What are you doing here?” Mr. Balogun blinked, startled.

“Cryst called about Susanne’s accident,” She replied, her frown deepening. Auntie Funke nodded, placing a comforting hand on his arm. “I was afraid your blood pressure might spike again.” She reached into her handbag, pulling out a small bottle of pills. “Please, take one, and let the children handle the rest.”

Mr. Balogun shook his head with a weary sigh. “No, I’m fine. I don’t need them.”

Auntie Funke’s brows knit in exasperation. “At least take one pill.”

“I said no.” His voice was calm, yet firm.

The doctor’s approach spared Auntie Funke from further insistence. He smiled faintly, nodding toward the family. “You’ll be pleased to know Mrs. Susanne’s surgery went well, but there’s still a lot of recovery ahead. She has some bruising on the brain. She’ll remain in a coma for now.”

Relieved sighs rippled through the family, and Mr. Balogun managed a small smile. “We’ll stay until she wakes.”

Cryst, Mr. Balogun’s daughter, attempted to sound nonchalant. “Dad, I think we should go home. The doctor said she’ll be out for a while.”

But Mr. Balogun shook his head. “Didn’t you hear? We’ll wait.” He turned to his son, Michael. “Stay here with your wife.”

“No, I’ll stay,” Cryst interrupted quickly. “Michael can go home and rest.”

But Mr. Balogun’s patience was wearing thin. “Must you always have something to say? This is Michael’s place, not yours. It's his wife in Comma. It's his responsibility to look after her!” He gestured sharply for Michael to remain by Susanne’s side. Auntie Funke gave Michael a reassuring nod. “I’ll take care of your father, stay with your wife.”

As the night wore on, Michael fell into a restless sleep on the small hospital sofa, unaware that something was beginning to shift in the dark quiet of the room.

When morning broke, Musimbi, the housemaid, carefully tended to Susanne, cleaning her face with a warm cloth and gently stepped out to wash the hand towel. The machines around Susanne beeped softly, steady as guardians over her silent form.

Just then, a flicker. Susanne’s eyelids trembled, slowly parting to take in the sterile, blinding white of the hospital. Her eyes shifted to the side, landing on Michael, asleep and leaning against the couch arm. Memories of the accident crept in—flashes, fragments—until she remembered what had brought her here. Michael had stayed with her, but why? It struck her as odd that he would be there at all. Perhaps he was forced, she thought, trying to suppress the confusing blend of gratitude and guilt that rose within her.

Hearing footsteps, she quickly closed her eyes, feigning sleep. It was Cryst. She entered with a basket of food, a shadow of satisfaction flickering across her face. She nudged her brother awake with little more than a whispered, “Brother, I brought breakfast.”

Rubbing his eyes, Michael sat up, his neck sore from an uncomfortable night. “She didn’t wake at all, did she?” he murmured. “The doctor said she might regain consciousness, but...”

Cryst raised her eyebrows in a feigned expression of surprise. “Really? They thought she’d wake by now?”

Michael’s frown deepened as he massaged his aching neck. “Dad hardly slept. Auntie Funke finally managed to take him back home. Did you sleep?”

“Not much,” she murmured, an amused smile playing on her lips. “I was reading some of my favorite online books to keep myself busy. Now, I thought I’d check on our dear sister-in-law.” With that, Cryst sauntered over to the bed just as Grace—known to them as Susanne—pretended to stir awake.

“Oh, she’s awake!” Cryst said, her tone lilting with feigned surprise. Michael, his heart racing, quickly moved to Grace’s side and grabbed her hand. “Grace, how are you feeling? Can you see me?”

Grace blinked, appearing dazed. She freed one hand from his grasp to clutch her head. “Ow… my head,” she winced, her voice unsteady.

“Call the doctor! Tell the nurses Susanne’s awake,” Michael ordered, barely concealing his urgency as Cryst stepped out.

When they were alone, Grace looked around, confusion clouding her gaze. “Why… why am I in the hospital?” she stammered, her body visibly weak as she tried to sit up.

“Take it easy,” Michael urged, his hand gently pressing on her shoulder. “The doctor will be here soon. You fell in the bathroom yesterday and hurt yourself, but you’re okay now.”

Their eyes locked in an intense gaze, though Grace’s expression grew troubled. She shifted his hand off her shoulder with a frown. “Who are you?”

A look of shock passed over Michael’s face. “Susanne… are you alright?” he asked softly, leaning in closer.

She repeated, her voice a bit stronger now, “Who are you?”

Michael’s alarm was immediate. “Doctor! Doctor!” he called, and within moments, the doctor entered with Cryst and two nurses in tow.

“You assured us she’d be fine,” Michael nearly growled at the doctor. “Please, check her. I think… I think she’s lost her memory.”

The doctor nodded, pulling a pen from his coat pocket. “Follow my pen,” he instructed, moving it in front of Grace’s face. She obeyed, her gaze following as directed, but her expression remained blank. Cryst, meanwhile, barely held back a smirk.

“Mrs., I’ll ask again,” the doctor continued calmly. “Do you remember how you fell?”

Grace’s eyes drifted to the ceiling as she struggled to recall. “No.”

“Well, surely you remember your name,” he prompted gently.

Her expression went blank. “I… I don’t remember.”

“Oh, come on, Susanne! Stop this prank already,” Cryst muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes.

“Shut up!” Michael snapped, silencing his sister. Grace clutched her head, wincing in pain.

“Who are these people? Please… make them go away. My head hurts. I… I just want to leave here,” Grace whimpered, her voice tinged with fear.

“Relax, madam. You’re safe,” the doctor soothed, sharing a worried look with Michael. “You fell, and your husband brought you here for treatment.”

“My husband?” Grace’s confusion only deepened. She glanced at Michael, who looked pained.

“What happened to her?” Michael demanded, his voice barely above a whisper.

The doctor sighed, placing a hand on Michael’s shoulder. “We’ve seen similar cases. This is likely an instance of post-traumatic memory disorder. It’s usually temporary, but she will need time to recover.”

Michael took a deep breath, then turned and stepped out of the room, needing a moment to gather himself. Cryst, however, watched the scene with amusement, finally breaking into a laugh.

“Oh, that was impressive,” she sneered at Grace, her voice dripping with disdain. “You’re quite the actress, aren’t you? Next time, just go ahead and play dead—it would save everyone the trouble!” She threw a smirk at Grace before striding out after her brother.

Out in the hallway, Michael met with the doctor once more. “Are you sure she’ll recover?” he asked, worry evident in his voice.

“Yes, it’s a matter of time,” the doctor reassured. “For now, let her rest. We’ll monitor her progress.”

Just as the doctor turned to leave, Cryst approached her brother. “Are you seriously falling for this act?” she scoffed. “Memory loss just because she fell? It sounds like something out of a storybook!”

“She’s my wife, Cryst,” Michael replied sharply. “If she’s lost her memory, then it’s my duty to be here for her. I’ll arrange for someone to assist, but she’s my responsibility.”

Cryst placed a hand on his arm, stopping him. “Look at you—you’re exhausted. You haven’t even showered!” She sniffed the air mockingly. “You should go home, have a proper meal, rest up. I can look after her if you really need me to.”

“There’s no need,” came a voice from behind them. They turned to see Grace standing with Musimbi, the nurse, supporting her.

“I can take care of myself,” Grace said firmly, though her posture was unsteady. Her voice carried an undercurrent of defiance that took Michael by surprise.

Michael, clearly worried, spoke gently, “Grace, the doctor mentioned you still have a clot. You should be resting, not exerting yourself.”

Grace looked at him with a pained expression. “Your family makes me feel like an outsider. I’m not even sure I belong here.”

Cryst rolled her eyes. “Pretend all you want, but don’t forget—we’re the ones paying for this hospital stay,” she muttered before sweeping out of the hallway.

Michael sighed, turning to Musimbi. “Would you mind keeping an eye on her? Call me if anything changes.”

Musimbi nodded. “Of course, sir. I’ll make sure she’s comfortable.”

With one last look at Grace, Michael left, feeling torn between worry and helplessness. In his absence, Musimbi guided Grace back to her bed, though Grace’s troubled expression suggested she, too, felt lost—perhaps in ways she couldn’t yet understand.