YOU ARE MY LIGHT

CHAPTER 9: HIDDEN SMILES

Had I just taken on something I couldn’t handle?

“Mr. Vincent… I have a question.”

My chest tightened the moment the words left my mouth.

He looked up at me.

I stared at the file in my hands, eyes fixed on the small ID photo clipped to the corner. She looked so young. Too young.

“Didn’t her parents find out about this in time?” I asked gently.

“They did,” he replied. “But they were afraid. Afraid of the risks. Afraid of losing her on the operating table. By the time they agreed, the tumor had already progressed too far.”

I swallowed hard.

“I understand their fear,” I murmured. “No parent wants to gamble with their child’s life.”

Mr. Vincent studied me for a moment.

“Monitor her closely,” he said.

“I will, sir.”

When I left his office, Zara’s file felt heavier than the rest. That afternoon, I visited her room for the first time.

I paused outside her door.

What if I don’t find anything? Her surgery is in two weeks. Will I figure it out in time?

I pushed the thought away, opened the door, and stepped inside with a smile.

She smiled back. And somehow, that smile made everything worse.

“Good morning, Zara.”

“Good morning, Nurse,” she replied.

“You can call me Juliet,” I said softly, sitting beside her bed.

She hesitated, then nodded.

“Good morning… Nurse Juliet.”

I smiled. “How are you feeling today?”

She gave a small nod.

“I’m going to be your nurse from today,” I told her, gently touching her hand. “But I hope I can be more than that… maybe a friend too.”

She looked at me for a moment, then nodded again.

I stood up. “If you need anything, just press this button,” I said, pointing at the call button by her bed. “I’ll come right away. And if you ever need someone to talk to… I’m here.”

She smiled.

If she trusts me, maybe I’ll be able to figure out what’s really going on.

The next day, my duties officially began. I checked on patients, updated charts, and assisted in operating rooms where time seemed to stretch endlessly.

I watched Mr. Vincent stay calm and confident even in the most critical moments. His boldness… I couldn’t help but admire it.

Some surgeries lasted six hours, others eight. My legs ached, my shoulders burned.

But I felt alive. This was where I belonged.

And somewhere between the routine checkups and IV changes, Zara and I grew close.

She was brighter than her diagnosis, stronger than her fragile body suggested. Every time she saw me, she’d wave dramatically and shout, “Aunt Juliet!”

I always pretended to be offended. “Aunt? I’m not that old!”

She’d laugh — a soft, genuine sound that warmed the whole room. We shared stories. She told me about school, the boy she once liked, and how she wanted to dye her hair purple one day. I told her carefully edited hospital gossip.

Sometimes we even joked about Mr. Vincent.

And I was sure he knew.

I kept watching her closely.

She seemed too normal for someone so sick — too calm, always smiling like she refused to believe anything was wrong. She reminded me of myself… the girl who smiled through pain because of her mother.

Is she doing the same thing… for her mum?

One evening, I walked into her room cheerfully. “I’m here!”

She sat up quickly, wincing a little but still smiling.

“How are you feeling today?” I asked.

“It hurts,” she admitted honestly. “But I can manage.”

My heart cracked, but I smiled so she wouldn’t see it. “You’re so strong,” I told her. “I knew that from the first day.”

She grinned. “My D-day is coming soon, right?”

I nodded gently. “Yes.”

We both knew what she meant — the day of her surgery.

She looked down at her hands. “I’m nervous.”

I pulled a chair closer and held her hand. “You don’t have to be afraid. You’ll be operated on by one of the best surgeons in the world. He trained abroad and has handled cases far more complex than this.”

She smirked. “You praise him every time his name comes up. Just like he praises you.”

“He does?” I asked, surprised. “Mr. Vincent praises me?”

She giggled and nodded.

“Mr. Vincent cares about you. You just can’t see it yet.”

“You mean he cares about all the nurses,” I replied quickly.

She rolled her eyes dramatically. “You two would look good together.”

“What?!” I shouted, then quickly covered her mouth. “Don’t say that again,” I whispered playfully.

She laughed even harder.

Then she motioned for me to come closer.

I raised an eyebrow and leaned in.

She whispered, “Mr. Vincent isn’t as cold as you all think… he’s actually the warmest.”

I laughed. “That’s what you think.”

“I know how to make him less cold to you,” she said with a mischievous smile. “I can help you.”

“Really?” I asked, playing along. “Okay, help me, dear.”

Just as she opened her mouth to speak, she suddenly froze and touched my arm, signaling me to look behind me.

I turned slowly.

Mr. Vincent stood at the doorway, one eyebrow slightly raised.

I swallowed hard.

“Thought you were here to find out what’s wrong with her,” he said calmly as he walked in, “didn’t know you were here to find out about me.”

“I… I…”

He looked at me.

I laughed nervously.

Zara burst into laughter.

“I’ll… I’ll go check on another patient,” I mumbled and practically ran out of the room.

There was nothing obviously wrong with Zara, yet I could feel something was off.

She wasn’t sleeping at night. She complained of headaches during the day. But none of it explained why her condition was worsening so quickly.

I moved on to the next patient. A mother was scolding her son in the next room.

“How could you change your pills just because you felt like it?” she snapped.

The woman saw me and reached out desperately.

“Nurse, please! My son has been swapping his drugs. Will it affect his treatment?”

“Mum, it’s nothing,” the boy mumbled.

“Shut up.”

I looked at the pill he was holding. Just a regular vitamin.

I smiled calmly. “It’s nothing, ma’am. It’s just a vitamin. It won’t affect his treatment.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, still worried.

I nodded. “Very sure.”

“Thank you,” she said, turning back to her son.

As I left the room, I heard her whisper, “Children of this age are too smart. You can’t trust them.”

Then—

something clicked.

The words echoed in my head.

“Children of this age… you can’t trust what they can do.”

My heart skipped.

What if…

Zara was doing the same thing?

My heart started racing. I ran back to her room.

“Aunt Juliet!” she called out with that same bright smile — the smile that could hide anything.

“Can I see your medication?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

She looked surprised but handed it over.

I took the bottle, and the moment my fingers closed around it, I knew something was wrong.

“I’ll be back,” I said quietly, then walked out faster than I should have.

At the pharmacy, I compared her pills with the ones we had prescribed.

My heart dropped.

Same color. Same shape.

Different label. Different dosage.

I rushed back to her room.

“Zara,” I called, fighting to keep my voice steady.

She knew immediately that something was wrong.

“Where did you get this?” I asked, holding up the bottle. “It looks the same, but it’s not what we prescribed.”

She lowered her head, guilt written all over her face.

“I’m sorry, Aunt Juliet,” she whispered, voice shaking.

“It’s okay… just tell me what happened,” I said, gently holding her hand.

“My drugs finished earlier than usual… so I…”

“And you changed them?” I asked.

“I didn’t want my mum to suffer again buying medicine,” she said, tears filling her eyes. “I’ve been suffering her… “I’ve been making her suffer…” she cried.

“She’s suffering because of me. I just wanted to help.”

“Zara… you know how dangerous this is, especially in your condition,” I said softly.

She nodded, crying harder.

“We were so worried why your symptoms were getting worse. It was because of this.”

“I just wanted to helpI just wanted to help… to share some of my mum’s burden,” she sobbed. “I don’t want to be a burden…”

“She doesn’t see you as a burden,” I said, my own eyes stinging. “Never has. Someone who sees you as a burden wouldn’t fight this hard to save you. She’s doing it happily, because she loves you.”

She broke down completely. I pulled her into my arms as tears blurred my vision.

“It’s okay… it’s okay,” I whispered.

“It’s been so painful,” she cried against my shoulder.

So that was it. She had been hiding her pain… for her mum.

Later that evening, I stood outside Mr. Vincent’s office, heart racing.

“You can come in,” he said.

I stepped inside.

Will he be angry with her when I tell him?

“Have you found out what’s wrong?” he asked, eyes still on his computer.

“Mr. Vincent…” I paused. “She’s been taking a different medication.”

He didn’t react.

“I compared it at the pharmacy,” I added quickly. “Same appearance… different dosage.”

He finally looked up.

“I know.”

I froze. “You knew?”

“I suspected,” he corrected calmly. “I needed to see if you would find it.”

My chest tightened.

“You figured it out faster than I expected,” he said. His voice almost sounded… proud.

“I’m glad you’re not angry,” I said softly, tears blurring my eyes.

He looked at me for a long moment, then spoke.

“We’re moving her surgery up. Instead of next week, we’ll operate in two days.”

My breath caught. Hope rushed through me. “So… we still have a chance?”

“We can’t wait any longer. It may already be too late because of what she’s been taking.”

“I’m telling you because you’re going in with me,” he added.

“I’m ready,” I said firmly, smiling through my tears. “For anything.”

For the first time, his expression softened. Not as the cold CEO. Not as my superior. Just as a surgeon preparing for battle.

He gave a small nod, then slid a cup of coffee across his desk toward me.

“Drink this before you go home. You’ve been running on empty.”

It was such a small gesture, but it caught me off guard. For the first time, I saw a glimpse of what Zara had been talking about — that warmth hidden under the cold exterior.

The next morning, I arrived unusually early. I wanted to see Zara and make her laugh one more time before rounds.

I rushed to my desk, about to drop my bag — when the emergency alarm suddenly blared.

My blood ran cold.

I looked at the screen.

Room number: hers.

The bag slipped from my fingers. I ran.

The hallway felt endless. Too slow. Too slow.

I pushed her door open.

She was shaking violently, struggling for breath. Monitors beeped wildly. Her small hands clawed weakly at the sheets.

“Please…” I whispered, rushing to her side, my own hands trembling just as badly.

She was fighting so hard.

And in that moment—

I realized something terrifying.

We weren’t running out of time anymore.

We had already run out.