Dared Home

Chapter 6

(Adams POV)

Mina rushed in behind the nurse, anxiety clinging to her. Inside the ICU, she spotted her sister a few beds away, struggling on the sickbed while the nurse attended to other patients.

"Hello, Miss, what happened?" Mina inquired, her voice tight with tension.

The nurse paused. "Your sister needs your help; she wants to ease herself. I was busy with another patient when she asked me to call you. I had to excuse myself and rush out. My apologies for not answering your question sooner."

"Oh. Thank you, ma'am." Mina hurried to her sister and helped her.

"Recently, he had been hanging around these sterile halls long after the purpose of his presence had died. The air seemed to soak in a stillness that offered some sort of refuge. The urge to confess was there, but perhaps this wasn't the right location at all. Perhaps the confession should be mine, too." Mina meditated internally as her sister settled back.

She settled into a chair directly behind her sister’s bed, a paperback novel resting on her knee, her eyes closed and unfocused. The warm, dim light from the bedside lamp touched her face, sweeping across the graceful curve of her neck and highlighting the tired lines of fatigue etched between her eyes.

Her headscarf was slightly askew, revealing slim strands of dark hair she had failed to keep entirely in check.

To anyone else, she seemed utterly worn out, ragged at the edges from the anxiety and the endless nights of keeping vigil. Yet, in her weakness, she appeared indestructible, imbued with some silent, natural power.

"He left some hours ago. There were contracts on his desk; there were emails that required answering; there was a world of obligations that was not confined to these hospital walls. But instead, he stayed, propping himself against the cold metal of the door frame, content with the idea of just watching over me and my sister. To help—it was something so deep and disturbing he couldn't even give it a name, but it felt like a pure kindness." Mina continued her internal monologue.

She picked up her phone and called him. He answered the moment the phone rang. "Hello, are you home or at work?" Mina inquired.

"Yes, I'm at home and also at work. I need to take care of the book we are about to publish." Adams responded kindly.

"You were staring at me the other time, but silent. Why?" She asked in a lower tone, with just a trace of teasing.

He laughed. "Perhaps you caught me. Perhaps I am." Adams replied humorously.

Her lips parted slightly as she replied, "I guess there’s something more, like something warmer, but not yet open."

She shook her head a little with a mild, embarrassed motion and suddenly glanced toward her sister, but the faint glow that overspread her cheeks was its own quiet self-confession.

On the other end, he laughed—not with big statements or blatant gestures, but the powerful, subtle things he kept under wraps.

There was something in the manner of his voice that was subtly leading her into a confession.

"A stranger should be terrifying to me. Instead, you inexplicably created something warm and special inside of me. I never expected you, but I believe God sends angels to us in different forms." Mina confessed.

"You need to stop your poetry here. I do appreciate your kindness, too. Not everybody accepts help from strangers." Adams paused, gently teasing her.

"Sorry, I will call you back. The nurse just stepped in to talk to me." Mina calmly excused herself.

"The doctors are calling it a miracle. Safiya will be discharged tomorrow. She has responded so fast to treatment; the heart issue has retreated. It still leaves her with weaknesses, of course, but she is vibrantly and greatly alive." The nurse announced.

Safiya sat up properly on the sickbed, regaining her strength and voice while the nurse replaced the bandage on the surgical site.

The hospital room that once seemed like a cage of fear became a place of bustling preparation for going home.

Mina began folding up the last of Safiya's clothes into a small bag, her movements light, almost giddy.

The ordeal was over. Now, it was all about returning home. She forwarded a text to Adams, informing him of the new development.

He called immediately. "That's great news. I will call Sadiq to inquire more about it. Also, I will send Emmanuel, my driver, to take care of your transportation. I will be very busy with work tomorrow."

"Okay, thank you." Mina responded calmly as he ended the call.

In the dark, quiet hospital room, where the rhythm of her breathing was monotonous and soft against the pillow, Mina fell into a fitful slumber in the stiff chair. She was awakened by the din of the morning prayer bell ringing. She rose, washed up, and prayed.

Adams called immediately after she was done praying to inform her that the driver would soon be at the hospital to take them home and would be available for any further movements they might need.

She smiled and said, "Good morning, sir. I hope your night was splendid? Thank you for everything, and may God bless you and protect you throughout your affairs now and always."

He remained silent, listening to her, and when she was done, he responded, "Gratitude is safe. It may be bought, sold, or free, but the sentiment is never unequal. I also appreciate your kind words; this has been converted into a flowery thing. It is a sort of a leap into the unknown. May the good Lord be sufficient for us and bless you too. Thank you. We will talk later. Bye." He ended the call.

They were given a discharge letter in the morning. Emmanuel was already there as early as possible and drove them home.

When they got inside, they had to take some rest. Later on, Mina decided to clean up the house and get into the chores.

The door to the room swung open. But it wasn't a nurse this time. It was Mina's mother from Abuja.

She stood in the doorway, a solid, imposing figure in her traditional attire, her headtie perfectly starched. Her face, usually a mask of weary resilience, was etched with deep lines of concern.

She had taken the first available flight from Abuja to Lagos immediately upon returning from the Niger Republic.

"Mama!" Safiya exclaimed, a genuine smile spreading across her face.

Mina's smile was more hesitant. She watched the way her mother's sharp eyes scanned the room, taking inventory: the vibrant orchids on the windowsill, the expensive-looking fruit basket, the new, warm blanket draped over Safiya's legs.

"My children," Mama said, her voice a low rumble. She moved towards Safiya first, cupping her face, her eyes glistening with relieved tears. "You gave us a fright." Then she turned to Mina. "You have lost weight."

"It's been a stressful time, Mama. I called several times, but your numbers weren't connecting. So I informed others to reach out to you however they could." Mina said, moving to hug her. Her mother's embrace was stiff, her attention already elsewhere.

"Whose car was that? The black one downstairs? The driver said it's yours?" Mina's mother curiously inquired, her tone deceptively casual.

Mina took a slow breath. "It's… it's a friend's car, Ma. He's been kind enough to let us use it while Safiya was sick."

"A friend?" Her mother repeated, puzzled, the question hanging heavily in the air.

She picked up some of the expensive gifts from the table beside the bed. "A friend gave you this? And flowers?" She gestured to the orchids. "These are not 'get well' flowers. Who is this friend?"