The rest of the week went well and soon it was weekend.

Saturday afternoon arrived fast. Not quite sunny, not quite rainy, just a gentle wash over the city that made everything feel quieter, slower, literally the slowest shift in my entire life.

I had finished my morning shift at Charité hospital, a little after 14:30, the ward humming with the usual end-of-shift handover chatter, and for the first time this week I walked out without the knot of anxiety in my stomach. Damn it was good to get used to working again.

The routine was settling in: I knew which supply closet had the extra IV lines, which nurse...