Chapter 2

The parking lot was shrouded in darkness, despite the lamp poles casting their pale light at every corner. The night felt heavy, like a cloak with no moon to cut through the gloom. She fumbled through her purse, fingers grazing over familiar items until she found her keys. It felt like she walked miles to her car, the weight of the night pressing down on her. Once inside, she turned on the engine, its hum breaking the silence. Instead of taking the local highway toward her apartment, she took the parkway. The road was empty, not a single car in sight. She drove on, lost in the shadows, the night stretching endlessly before her.

She had expected to feel exhausted after working 16 hours without a break, but instead, a surprising sense of relaxation washed over her. The window was down, and the crisp fall wind rushed in, carrying with it the scent of damp leaves and the coolness of the night. The highway stretched out before her, a ribbon of asphalt flanked by dark silhouettes of trees, their branches swaying gently in the breeze. No beeping, no cries, no moans, no shouts—just a profound stillness enveloped her, as if the world had pressed pause. In that moment, she soaked in the luxury of complete quiet, the absence of flashing lights and the relentless intercom announcements a balm to her frayed nerves. 

What lay ahead, she didn’t know. Maybe she would just keep driving until the car ran out of gas or until exhaustion made it impossible to keep her eyes open. For now, though, she felt alive, energy coursing through her, the gas tank full. So she continued along the parkway, allowing her mind to drift into a state of nothingness. No thoughts, no worries—just the comforting rhythm of the tires against the asphalt and the cool wind rushing through the window. In this moment, she found solace in the absence of direction, relishing the freedom of simply being.

When was the last time she had driven out of Long Island? A year? Two? It felt like ages since she’d navigated the 278 or the Cross Island Parkway without the usual gridlock. The absence of traffic on this typically busy highway felt strange, almost eerie, yet it filled her with a sense of freedom. In this stillness, she could drive anywhere, unburdened by thoughts of work or the weight of others' expectations. In that moment, she felt liberated, free from all her responsibilities. She knew she would email her director to say she wasn’t feeling well and would update her on when she could return to work. But deep down, as she settled into the driver’s seat, she understood that she would never return to her old life.

Normally, Ella didn’t like driving long distances. She’d get bored or tired after a few hours, and her nerves always tightened on the highway—too many trucks, too many speeding cars, too much noise demanding her attention. But today was different. The road was almost empty, no motorcycles zipping by to steal her focus. To her surprise, she found herself enjoying the ride, the steady rhythm of the tires on asphalt, the quiet stretch of the world unfolding ahead of her.

She had lost count of how many towns, rest areas, or golden arches she had passed. Just then, her cell phone rang—it was the hospital. She almost let it go to voicemail, but knowing she couldn’t do that, she pressed “answer” on her car console.

“Yes, Ella here,” she said.

“Dr. Ella, can you come in? I know it's your day off, but we’re shorthanded and were hoping you could help out.”

Ella took a deep breath, feeling a mix of guilt and elation. “I’m afraid I can’t,” she replied. “I’m near the border of Maryland and Virginia, and I won’t be able to make it in time for the next shift. I’m sorry.”

The nurse on the other end consulted with others on the floor before returning to the line. “Of course! Enjoy your time off, Hay, Ella, be careful out there.”

Chapter 1

An urgency swells within me, tugging at my thoughts: if I’m going to write, it must be now—there’s no time left to waste. Ever since she was a little girl, Ella dreamed of weaving stories, recalling the thrill of breathing life into her own creations through words and illustrations. But as she excelled in school, the pressure to pursue a career in medicine mounted. She convinced herself this was her destined path; after all, who wouldn’t aspire to be a respected professional, held in high regard by society? Yet deep down, the echoes of her childhood dreams lingered, reminding her of a life she had set aside.

But everything changed during COVID; her once-passionate drive to save lives transformed into a haunting nightmare. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t save them all. There weren’t enough ventilators, not enough beds, and no medicine to alleviate her patients’ suffering. She worked grueling 12 to 16 hour shifts, six days a week, losing track of the last time she showered or ate. Weeks slipped by without her stepping foot in her apartment. Yet, despite the exhaustion, she clung to her youth and strength, determined to fight through it all and save as many lives as she could.

The ordeal became overwhelming; fatigue wrapped around her like a heavy shroud, leaving her bitter and hollow. She found herself unable to see the patients as individuals anymore, viewing them instead as mere numbers or lifeless bodies—coughing, feverish, moaning, and crying out for their parents and loved ones. It broke her heart that she couldn’t cure them; all she could do was ease their suffering and desperately hope they had enough strength to recover on their own. There were no antibiotics, no miracle drugs to save them—just a relentless virus wreaking havoc.

She was bone-tired, yet the thought of quitting felt impossible; she couldn’t just walk out of the hospital while so many were suffering, especially the children. She watched in anguish as a mother struggled to bring her baby into the world, only to succumb during the harrowing labor. The child, a fragile girl, was born only to slip away moments later—too small, too weak, with no ventilator to support her tiny body. The weight of sickness and death hung heavy in the air. After four years as a doctor, she had never truly witnessed death, but now it surrounded her, an unrelenting presence that invaded her every day.

One night, she jolted awake, heart racing, her screams echoing in the darkness. Nightmares of sick patients pressed in on her, their desperate faces coming at her from every angle. She flailed, trying to wave them off, but they kept coming, relentless and haunting. Then, as panic set in, she felt the weight of their suffering settle upon her—she was coughing, gasping for breath, her body betraying her. A suffocating darkness enveloped her, heavy and oppressive, as if a deep, dark cloud had descended, stealing away her strength and will to fight.

For the first time, at 34, she confronted her own mortality, the stark reality that she could die just like the patients before her. Some were old, others vibrant and healthy until the virus took hold, transforming their lives in an instant. What if she, too, harbored the virus within her? It lingered in her body, a silent threat poised to escape and spread through the hospital like wildfire, ready to claim more lives.

She found herself adrift in uncertainty, questioning everything: Am I sick or not? Am I carrying the virus? Am I truly helping anyone? The woman she once knew—a bright, beautiful soul with a kind heart and soft-spoken nature—felt like a distant memory. Now, she was lonely and exhausted, yearning to escape, to run far from the ward, from the hospital, from a world steeped in doubt and death.

So she left, without saying goodbye, without formally quitting, and without even bothering to pack her belongings. She attended to her last patient, a survivor who had clawed his way back from the brink after 16 agonizing days, and might finally go home tomorrow. But she wouldn’t be the one writing the discharge order. In that moment, she felt hollow, as if a part of her had already slipped away. The weight of despair settled heavy on her chest, suffocating. There was nothing left of her—only a shadow of the person she once was, trapped in a cycle of grief and exhaustion. She had reached the end of her tether, consumed by a darkness that seemed to stretch infinitely ahead.