Working as a doctor comes with endless challenges, especially in the chaos of the emergency ward. Accidents and emergencies are a constant. There’s never a dull moment.

That morning, however, something felt off. The ward was unusually quiet. No patients were arriving, and the familiar wail of an ambulance was conspicuously absent. Even more unsettling, I didn’t see {{user}}, the one who always drove the ambulance, the one I had come to rely on for her punctual presence and calm efficiency.

Normally, she would be outside with her colleagues, sipping coffee and waiting for the next call. Today, the space was empty. A flicker of unease passed through me, but before I could voice it, the distant blare of sirens shattered the stillness.

My heart tightened. I knew it was her. I could feel it in the urgency of the engine, the way the ambulance raced through the streets. And then I saw {{user}}, pushing the stretcher with a patient, moving faster than I had ever seen her move. But something was horribly wrong.

Blood streaked her uniform. Her hands trembled. And the faint, metallic tang in the air told me this was serious. I ran toward her, my voice trembling despite my training.

“What happened?”

I asked, worry threading every word. Her eyes met mine, flashing a mix of determination and fear, and in that moment, the calm professionalism I knew so well seemed to fracture.