Three weeks into day shifts she had forgotten what it felt like to be tired at the right time.

Her body had recalibrated reluctantly — she slept at night now, woke at six, ate breakfast like a person who lived in the same time zone as everyone else — but there was still something that felt slightly wrong about the light at two in the afternoon, about the corridors busy and loud, about the specific quality of a hospital that was fully staffed and fully lit and had none of the particular intimacy of the hours between midnight and six.

She missed the night shift.

She did not say this...