He nodded, the fight seemingly leaving him. The reality of accountability was dawning, and there was no escaping it.

I watched him leave the room, his footsteps heavy with the weight of what was to come. The nurses resumed their duties, tending to my mother with a renewed sense of purpose. I settled back into my seat, my mother’s hand still clasped in mine, offering what comfort I could.

For the first time in a long time, I felt a sense of peace. Not just for my mother, but for the countless others who might benefit from this reckoning. The hospital, a place that should be a sanctuary for healing, was on the path to becoming just that—a place where every patient’s voice mattered, where justice was not a privilege, but a right.