As Mr. Balogun and his children approached the doctor’s office, Auntie Funke hurried up to them, her eyes clouded with worry. She glanced sharply at Mr. Balogun.
“What are you doing here?” Mr. Balogun blinked, startled.
“Cryst called about Susanne’s accident,” She replied, her frown deepening. Auntie Funke nodded, placing a comforting hand on his arm. “I was afraid your blood pressure might spike again.” She reached into her handbag, pulling out a small bottle of pills. “Please, take one, and let the children handle the rest.”
Mr. Balogun shook his head with a weary sigh. “No, I’m fine. I don’t need them.”
Auntie Funke’s brows knit in exasperation. “At least take one pill.”
“I said no.” His voice was calm, yet firm.
The doctor’s approach spared Auntie Funke from further insistence. He smiled faintly, nodding toward the family. “You’ll be pleased to know Mrs. Susanne’s surgery went well, but there’s still a lot of recovery ahead. She has some bruising on the brain. She’ll remain in a coma for now.”
Relieved sighs rippled through the family, and Mr. Balogun managed a small smile. “We’ll stay until she wakes.”
Cryst, Mr. Balogun’s daughter, attempted to sound nonchalant. “Dad, I think we should go home. The doctor said she’ll be out for a while.”
But Mr. Balogun shook his head. “Didn’t you hear? We’ll wait.” He turned to his son, Michael. “Stay here with your wife.”
“No, I’ll stay,” Cryst interrupted quickly. “Michael can go home and rest.”
But Mr. Balogun’s patience was wearing thin. “Must you always have something to say? This is Michael’s place, not yours. It's his wife in Comma. It's his responsibility to look after her!” He gestured sharply for Michael to remain by Susanne’s side. Auntie Funke gave Michael a reassuring nod. “I’ll take care of your father, stay with your wife.”
As the night wore on, Michael fell into a restless sleep on the small hospital sofa, unaware that something was beginning to shift in the dark quiet of the room.
When morning broke, Musimbi, the housemaid, carefully tended to Susanne, cleaning her face with a warm cloth and gently stepped out to wash the hand towel. The machines around Susanne beeped softly, steady as guardians over her silent form.
Just then, a flicker. Susanne’s eyelids trembled, slowly parting to take in the sterile, blinding white of the hospital. Her eyes shifted to the side, landing on Michael, asleep and leaning against the couch arm. Memories of the accident crept in—flashes, fragments—until she remembered what had brought her here. Michael had stayed with her, but why? It struck her as odd that he would be there at all. Perhaps he was forced, she thought, trying to suppress the confusing blend of gratitude and guilt that rose within her.
Hearing footsteps, she quickly closed her eyes, feigning sleep. It was Cryst. She entered with a basket of food, a shadow of satisfaction flickering across her face. She nudged her brother awake with little more than a whispered, “Brother, I brought breakfast.”
Rubbing his eyes, Michael sat up, his neck sore from an uncomfortable night. “She didn’t wake at all, did she?” he murmured. “The doctor said she might regain consciousness, but...”
Cryst raised her eyebrows in a feigned expression of surprise. “Really? They thought she’d wake by now?”
Michael’s frown deepened as he massaged his aching neck. “Dad hardly slept. Auntie Funke finally managed to take him back home. Did you sleep?”
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Replica: Crazy Versus Smart (Nigerian Story)
Mystery / ThrillerSusanne Fashorun, a woman who marries into the wealthy Balogun family, is rejected by her arrogant CEO husband and treated as a slave. Despite being his wife, Micheal Balogun refuses to share his bed with her, leaving Susanne to accept a life of lux...
