She was about to donate her late husband’s old coat when she found a key and a piece of paper with an address in the pocket. What she found there…

The clock was nearing midnight when Martha finally said goodbye to her colleagues and made her way to the elevator. The Central Hospital parking lot was almost empty at that hour, with only a few on-call doctors’ vehicles scattered around the vast space. Her eyes burned with fatigue after 16 consecutive hours of work.

Another extended shift. Another day avoiding going home. At 65, Martha Sullivan was one of the most respected cardiologists in the hospital.

Decades of experience and hundreds of saved lives had built her reputation. But in the past six months, since her husband Roger’s departure, she had become a shadow of her former self. The work that was once a vocation now served as a shield against the deafening silence of her apartment.

As she walked towards her car, she suddenly felt dizzy. The parking lot lights seemed to spin around her. She tried to lean on a nearby pillar, but her legs gave way.

The last thing she saw before losing consciousness was the moonlight, strangely bright, filtered through the passing clouds. Dr. Martha, can you hear me? The familiar voice of her colleague, Dr. Eleanor, brought her back into consciousness. Martha blinked several times, trying to recognize where she was.

The white walls, the heart monitor beside her, the smell of antiseptic. She was in a bed at the very hospital where she had worked for over 30 years. What happened? she asked with a hoarse voice.

You had a collapse in the parking lot, extreme exhaustion, dehydration and high blood pressure. Your body is sending clear signals that you need to rest. Martha tried to get up, but Eleanor gently stopped her.

Don’t even think about it. You’ll be under observation for at least 48 hours. We’ve already called your children.

The mention of her children made Martha feel a pang of guilt. Since Roger’s funeral, she had gradually distanced herself from Lawrence, Audrey and her five grandchildren. The missed calls and cancelled Sunday lunches accumulated like stones on her chest.

Hours later, Lawrence and Audrey entered the room. The eyes of both revealed a mix of concern and relief. Mum, you can’t keep going on like this, said Audrey, holding her wrinkled hand between hers…