Chapter 3 The Collapse Mystery

The door flung open, and two hefty guards, along with the house manager, rushed to the balcony. They carried Mr. Christopher out, his body limp between them. I stumbled behind, my heart racing, the chill in my spine crawling upward. The house manager was frantic, constantly asking questions, demanding answers I didn't have. "What happened?" he barked. "What did you give to him? What was in his food?" His words felt like whips lashing at my chest.

I struggled to form any coherent reply. The world seemed to spin around me, the air growing thick with panic. My mind couldn't focus. Was this real? Was this really happening?

"Sir, I... I didn't give him anything... except his usual routine," I stammered, my voice breaking. My heart hammered in my chest as I desperately tried to recall everything I had done that morning. I had served him the usual breakfast-custard. Then, I gave him his medication. That was it. That was all. But the way the house manager was looking at me-like I was guilty of something-made me question if I had missed something, anything. Could I have done something wrong? Could I have hurt him without even knowing?

My breath hitched. I wasn't sure if I was scared because Mr. Christopher might die, or because I feared being arrested for something I had no control over. As much as my heart wanted him to be okay, a tiny voice in the back of my mind whispered, *What if they blame you?*

We reached the hospital at 10:31 a.m., the time etched into my mind as the most crucial moment of my life. I had no idea how this was all going to unfold. Mr. Christopher was rushed into one of the private rooms in the VIP ward. It was his family's hospital, so the doctors were familiar with his condition. But familiarity couldn't help me now. The door slammed shut behind them, and suddenly, I was left in the cold hallway, the house manager standing stiffly beside me.

The hours dragged on like a torturous loop. I couldn't stop shaking. I couldn't stop thinking. The house manager sat across from me, his eyes constantly darting to my face. His gaze was cold, sharp, accusing. I couldn't help but feel the weight of his stare. Each moment that passed without a word felt like a countdown. My chest tightened with every tick of the clock, and the air around me seemed to press in, suffocating me. Every time the door to Mr. Christopher's room opened, I flinched. But no one came to tell me anything. I prayed, over and over, begging God to spare him, praying that I hadn't somehow played a part in whatever had happened to him.

I kept thinking about my life-how I had ended up here. A young woman with big dreams, but stuck in this moment, paralyzed by fear. Back home, my mother depended on me. She was just a petty trader, scraping by every day. My younger brother was still in school, struggling to make something of himself. They needed me, and I couldn't afford to fail them. I had worked so hard to secure this job, hoping it would be the breakthrough I needed. I had no other choice but to hold on to this opportunity, and yet, now, it was all slipping through my fingers like sand.

I tried to steady my breathing, but nothing seemed to work. My mind raced as the minutes stretched into hours. How had I gotten here? How had everything become so tangled? The guilt gnawed at me. The house manager's silent accusations weighed heavy on me. I didn't deserve this. I didn't deserve the suspicion.

But still, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was somehow responsible. *What if I had made a mistake? What if I gave him the wrong dosage of his medication?* The thought was like a knife twisting in my gut, making my stomach churn with dread. *What if this was all my fault?*

The silence in the hallway was broken by the sharp click of shoes on the polished floors. A group of doctors and nurses emerged from the room. I stood up immediately, my heart thundering in my chest. I moved toward them, desperate for any news, but the look on their faces stopped me cold. The house manager had already caught up with me, his face tight with anxiety.

"He fell into a coma," one of the doctors said, his voice grave. "We did everything we could to stabilize him, but his condition is critical. It's a 50/50 chance. We'll have to wait and see."

A wave of dizziness washed over me. I couldn't breathe. The words seemed to hang in the air, spinning around me, refusing to sink in. A coma. He was in a coma. A 50/50 chance. My mind couldn't make sense of it.

"Oh no..." The words barely left my lips before my knees buckled, and I collapsed onto the nearest chair. My vision blurred, and I felt a hot rush of tears that I couldn't hold back. My hands shook as I wiped my face, trying to regain some control over the chaos inside me. *What did I do wrong? Why was this happening?*

The house manager stood over me, his expression unreadable. He didn't speak. There was nothing he could say that would make this better.

I wasn't sure how much time passed. The doctors went back inside, the door sliding shut behind them. The room seemed smaller, suffocating. I could feel my chest tightening again. *Please, God, please let him wake up. Please don't let me lose everything I've worked for.*

I was just a girl, trying to make ends meet. But now, I wasn't sure what would be left if Mr. Christopher didn't pull through. The house manager's cold silence was unbearable. What did he think of me now? Would he believe I had nothing to do with it? Would anyone? I closed my eyes, trying to block out the thoughts that threatened to consume me.

I couldn't lose everything. Not now. Not when I was so close to finally having something I could call my own.