Old Rival’s Apology

The Caregiver Memorial Garden was quiet at dawn.

Mist rolled softly over the stone paths, and dew clung to the lavender and mint leaves growing in small patches beneath the tribute wall. Titi often came here in the early mornings before the clinic opened, long before the news vans arrived or journalists requested soundbites.

It was here that healing felt pure.

Private.

Unfiltered.

She was kneeling beside the nameplate of Aunty Felicia Ibikunle when a voice she hadn't heard in months stirred the still air.

"Titi."

She turned slowly.

And there stood Sandra Weyimi.

The Rival Returns

Sandra looked different. Her usual glamorous presence — statement jewelry, silk scarves, and clinical pride — was gone. Today, she wore simple slacks, no makeup, and a shy uncertainty that Titi had never seen on her face.

Titi stood. A breeze rustled through the garden like an omen.

"Sandra," she said. "Didn't expect to see you here."

"I didn't expect to come," Sandra replied. "But I've been watching… everything."

Titi didn't respond. She waited.

Sandra stepped closer, hands clasped in front of her, fingers trembling slightly.

"I didn't come to defend myself," she said. "I came to apologize."

What Was Left Unsaid

Back at the retreat during the Loyalty Game, Sandra had been the most vocal critic of Titi. She'd called her "too emotional," "too modest," and "too easily swayed by the patient's tears."

When the footage leaked after Sandra's disqualification, many assumed she had something to do with it. It was never proven — but the damage was done. She faded from the headlines, disappeared from private practice, and was quietly dismissed by the agency that had backed her.

Now, months later, she stood with red-rimmed eyes and no defenses.

"You were right," she said quietly. "About the job. About the heart it takes."

Titi Listens

Titi leaned against the tribute wall, arms crossed.

"I don't need an apology," she said evenly. "But why now?"

Sandra exhaled, her voice breaking. "Because my mother's dying. I've had to care for her myself. No nurses. No assistants. Just me. And I realized… I never understood what it meant until now."

She reached into her coat and handed Titi a small letter.

"I wrote to Mama Iroko, but I figured it was better if it passed through you."

Titi opened the note later. It simply read:

"You honored my pain even when I mocked yours.

I see you now. And I'm sorry I didn't see you before."

—S.W.

Extending Grace

Titi folded the letter and looked up. Sandra had turned to leave.

"You know," Titi called after her, "we're building a rural outreach program. First cohort begins in three weeks. No titles. No rank. Just work."

Sandra paused, then turned. "Are you offering me a job?"

"No," Titi said. "I'm offering you a clean slate. What you do with it is your choice."

Sandra gave a small, grateful nod. "Then I'll be there."

A Quiet Approval

Later that day, Titi sat with Mama Iroko in the sunroom. She read Sandra's note aloud, watching Mama's reaction carefully.

"She came back?" Mama asked, eyes half-closed.

"She did."

"Good," Mama said. "The door to growth must always remain unlocked — even for those who once tried to shut it on us."

Titi smiled.

"She'll work harder this time," Mama added with a chuckle. "Pride makes the best fuel when it's burned down to humility."

Healing from Both Sides

That evening, Sandra returned to the memorial garden with a fresh orchid bouquet and knelt at the base of the tribute wall. No cameras. No speeches. Just a single voice whispering between names:

"I'm ready now."