Monday melted into Tuesday in the usual blur of hospital life.

By Tuesday afternoon I was on autopilot – updating charts, checking IV lines, answering call bells with practiced efficiency. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow on the bustling nurses' station.

Olga sat perched on the edge of a stool, her legs swinging under the desk, devouring a bag of potato chips loudly. Each bite seemed a small act of rebellious act or was it stress eating?

Dew was hunched over in the corner, meticulously organizing medical supplies and muttering to himself. Hanna walked by with Ben-her puppy dog lover- both of them engrossed in a private...