Chapter 5: Fractures
967 Words
The hospital corridor smelled too clean. Too quiet. Too final.
Adebola’s heels echoed sharply against the polished tiles as she hurried toward the intensive care wing. Her heart pounded violently in her chest, each step feeling heavier than the last. Chinedu walked beside her, his calm presence the only thing keeping her from completely falling apart.
“What exactly did they say?” he asked gently.
“They said his blood pressure spiked suddenly… and he’s struggling to respond to treatment,” she replied, her voice trembling despite her efforts to stay composed.
They reached the consultation room where two doctors waited, their expressions professional but guarded. Adebola’s stomach twisted instantly.
“Ms. Lawson,” the older doctor began, gesturing for her to sit. “Your father’s condition has become unstable. We need to consider adjusting his treatment plan, but it comes with risks.”
Adebola swallowed hard. “What kind of risks?”
“There is a chance the new procedure could improve his neurological recovery,” the doctor said carefully. “But there is also a chance his body may not handle it.”
Silence wrapped around the room like suffocating smoke.
Chinedu remained standing beside her, his hand resting lightly on the back of her chair — close enough to comfort, distant enough to respect boundaries.
Adebola stared at the medical charts without truly seeing them. Her father’s warning echoed in her mind.
Trust nobody.
Her phone buzzed.
She didn’t need to check to know who it was.
Morenike.
“I need time to think,” Adebola said quietly.
The doctors nodded. “Of course. But not too much time. His condition is fragile.”
As they left the room, Adebola leaned against the hallway wall, pressing her palms against her temples.
“I can’t lose him, Chinedu,” she whispered.
“You won’t,” he said firmly, though his eyes carried uncertainty he couldn’t hide.
“You don’t know that,” she replied, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Everything is collapsing. The company, the board, now this…”
Without thinking, she stepped closer to him, her forehead brushing his shoulder as she tried to steady her breathing. For a moment, he froze — surprised by the closeness — before gently placing a hand on her back.
“You’re not alone,” he said softly.
The words settled deep in her chest, dangerous and comforting all at once.
Before the moment could stretch further, a familiar voice interrupted them.
“How touching.”
Adebola pulled away instantly.
Morenike stood at the end of the hallway, elegant as ever, her expression unreadable.
“I came as soon as I heard,” she said smoothly, walking toward them.
Adebola stiffened. “This is a private family matter.”
Morenike raised an eyebrow. “Lawson Holdings is also a family matter. And your father’s health affects leadership stability.”
Chinedu’s jaw tightened slightly.
“We’re discussing medical decisions, not corporate strategy,” he said calmly.
Morenike’s gaze shifted toward him slowly, measuring, calculating.
“You must be Mr. Okafor,” she said. “I’ve heard quite a lot about you.”
“Only the professional parts, I hope,” he replied evenly.
She smiled faintly. “Professional boundaries tend to blur in crises.”
Adebola stepped forward, cutting between them.
“My father trusted me to handle the company,” she said firmly. “And I will.”
Morenike studied her niece carefully, then leaned closer.
“Then you should know the board has scheduled an emergency vote tomorrow morning,” she said quietly. “They are reconsidering your leadership.”
The words hit like a physical blow.
“You’re lying,” Adebola whispered.
“I rarely waste energy on lies,” Morenike replied calmly before walking away.
That night, Adebola sat alone in her apartment, staring blankly at the Lagos skyline. The city lights flickered like distant stars, mocking her exhaustion.
Chinedu stood by the kitchen counter, watching her silently.
“You need to prepare for that board meeting,” he said finally.
“I’m about to lose my father,” she replied flatly. “And you want me to prepare a speech?”
“I want you to fight,” he corrected gently.
She turned toward him, anger flashing in her eyes.
“I am tired of fighting!”
The words echoed through the apartment before fading into silence.
Chinedu walked closer, his voice lower now.
“Your aunt is counting on that,” he said. “She wants you emotionally overwhelmed. She wants you distracted.”
Adebola looked away, her shoulders trembling.
“Why do you care so much?” she asked quietly.
The question caught him off guard.
He hesitated… then answered honestly.
“Because I’ve watched people lose everything they built,” he said. “And I refuse to watch it happen again.”
She turned slowly, searching his face.
“And me?” she asked softly. “Do you care about me… or just the company?”
The room fell completely still.
Chinedu stepped closer, his voice barely above a whisper.
“I stopped separating those two a long time ago.”
Her breath caught.
The tension between them thickened, electric and fragile. He lifted his hand slowly, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. Her eyes fluttered closed instinctively, leaning slightly into his touch.
For one reckless moment, nothing existed except the space between them.
And then—
Her phone rang again.
Adebola sighed shakily, stepping back.
“Yes?” she answered.
She listened silently.
Then her expression hardened.
“I understand,” she said, ending the call.
“What is it?” Chinedu asked.
“The board meeting has been moved forward,” she said quietly.
“To when?”
“Tomorrow morning… 8 a.m.”
- Writer
