The ones who live hidden in plain sight (A discovery of witches story)

29: When you are down

The room was filled with a heavy silence, broken only by the sharp click of a computer keyboard, the regular beeps from the surveillance monitors and the muffled footsteps of the teams on the move. Camille's shoulders were hunched, her hands still gloved, cold despite the dry hospital air. Her white blouse, slightly creased, still bore the marks of a day too long. She had dropped into a chair at the workstation, her eyes riveted on the duty report, waiting impatiently for the changeover.

Three reports. Three deaths. 3 grieving families.

The figures danced before her eyes. She felt a shiver run down her spine. Thirteen patients. All critical. 10 patients, still there, but that didn't make up for tonight.

She held back a sob. It was always like that here. The PICU — the Paediatric Intensive Care Unit — was a world in itself. Outside of time. Outside the ordinary rules. You fought for your life, but cases you couldn't fight enough.

The team arrived, little by little, and after the visit, she went outside to get some fresh air and get away from it all. She could have gone home. Crying at home, in Andrew's arms, while Céleste slept peacefully upstairs. But she didn't want to. She didn't want that pain to stick to her skin like a shadow and come home with her. It wasn't right. Not for Andrew, not for their daughter.

Outside, she isolated herself, sat down slowly and put her head in her hands. Tears welled up, uncontrollable, warm and silent.

A few minutes later, she took a deep breath, sat up and wiped her cheeks. She couldn't just sit there and mope. There were still children here, awake, sometimes alone. And she loved them, sincerely.

She went up the stairs, towards the paediatric ward, towards the playroom adjoining the unit. The space was modest but colourful: walls painted sky blue, a few children's drawings hung up, board games, cuddly toys piled up in a corner, different play areas. The subdued lighting made the place almost soft.

She entered silently, smiling as soon as she saw the little faces.

— Doctor Galloway!" cried a small voice, Melissa, playing with others.

A bespectacled girl pointed at her, her eyes shining. She wouldn't let go of her unicorn cuddly toy.

Camille smiled frankly. She approached gently.

— Good evening, can I play with you?

— YES!" they exclaimed in unison.

She sat cross— legged on the carpet, picked up a colourful pawn and joined in the ongoing board game. She felt herself breathe again. The laughter, the gentle bickering, the palpable innocence, all lightened the weight in her chest.

At one point she looked up and saw Bill, one of her colleagues, standing in the doorway. He looked tired too. She questioned him with her eyes. He raised his eyebrows and smiled slightly.

— I'll be back in a minute or two," she whispered to the children before standing up.

She joined Bill in the corridor.

— What are you doing here? Are you on call tonight? he asked.

— He asked. I finished my day in PICU. I just... needed a little pick— me— up.

He nodded, understanding, without really needing to say it.

— You should go home.

— But not just yet. I'm going to enjoy myself a little longer.

She thanked him with a smile, and went back to playing for a while.

A few days later, she was back on duty. Same unit. Same busy atmosphere. Camille was walking down the corridor, her gown half— open, her badge jingling to the rhythm of her footsteps. She finished admitting, then it was her turn to have her meal. All morning she had been waiting excitedly for the surprise left by Andrew.

" For after your meal only :)" the post— it said.

She smiled again at the attention. She was tempted to open it straight away, but respected the note. It made her curiously impatient, like a child in front of a Christmas present.

Her dinner was unremarkable — a salad and a piece of bread — but she finished it quickly, her eyes often turned towards the little package. Finally, she unwrapped it. Two little chocolate eggs, beautifully wrapped, and a note slipped underneath:

I love you. I hope your day is going well. Just to brighten things up a bit, just in case.

Camille felt her throat tighten:

— Oh, love you too, she murmured, smiling, deeply touched.

She bit into an egg with childlike delight. The chocolate melted gently, and with it some of the weight of the day. She reached for her phone and quickly typed:

Thank you for that lovely thought. It did me a world of good.

Andrew didn't take long to reply.

A successful surprise! I've got another surprise for you tonight ;)

She laughed softly. Even in the midst of chaos, he knew how to reach her, to pull her out of her heavy thoughts. It was nearly 2pm and he was about to go back to class. She wished him a good afternoon before getting back to work.

When she returned that evening, the living room was plunged into a soft half— light, lit only by the kitchen nightlight and a candle on the table. Andrew was waiting for her, sitting on the sofa with a blanket in his lap.

— Hug?" he said, spreading his arms.

She let herself fall against him with relief.

— Thanks again for the attention.

— Did it help a bit?

— A lot," she replied, closing her eyes against his shoulder.

He ran a hand through her hair.

— You're always sadder when you're on PICU duty.

She nodded, then murmured:

— It's... it's true. I try not to bring it home, but I'm sorry.

— There's no need to apologise, Camille. You don't need to apologise, Camille. And I've noticed that, yes, but it's subtle. You're allowed to come back sad.

She breathed slowly.

— I know I'm working to help, to treat... but the sheer volume of critical cases there is just too much. Children, parents, teenagers... it's a lot. And I always wonder how the people for whom it's their whole career do it.

Andrew was silent for a moment.

— They get used to it, I suppose. But frankly, I don't know how anyone can get used to this.

— And yet, I've got used to a lot of things. Trauma, drama, situations that no human being should have to go through. But over there, it's different. That atmosphere... that silence... it sticks with me. I should have got used to it by now.

— You can't love every part of your job," he says softly.

— No... you're right.

She looked up at him, lighter, more alive.

— Where's Celeste?

— Sleeping.

A gentle smile stretched Camille's lips. She imagined their daughter, snuggled up in her sheets, breathing peacefully.

— Thanks again, Andrew. You're the best.

She kissed him tenderly, then stood up, determined.

— I'll go and see her. Just for a little while.

And she quietly left the room, she wasn't going to wake her up just to look at her.