Chapter 65: Volume 1, - 65: Sofia’s Shift
The fluorescent light in the reception foyer of the Santa Maria private medical clinic hummed with a low, persistent buzz that usually vanished from notice by mid-morning. By eleven o’clock on Thursday, however, the hum felt like a physical pressure against the back of Sofia’s head.
Behind the counter, Sofia checked the schedule on her terminal, her fingers moving across the keyboard with practised speed. The queue in front of the window stretched four deep into the waiting room.
"Senhora Mendes," Sofia said calmly through the glass partition. "Doctor Vasconcelos isn’t running late. Doctor Silva called in sick this morning, so Doctor Vasconcelos is covering two patient lists. Urgent appointments first."
The grey-haired woman on the other side adjusted her glasses. "I’ve been sitting here since ten, Sofia."
"I understand," Sofia replied. She stamped a routing slip and slid it through the notch under the partition. "Take seat twelve. As soon as room three is clear, you’ll be called."
Sofia reached for the next file, opened the records software, and picked up the phone on its second ring.
"Santa Maria Clinic, good morning. Reception, Sofia speaking."
She held the receiver between her shoulder and ear, typing with her right hand while pulling a folder from the tray. A scheduling error from yesterday had double-booked three checkups, and she was spent tracing the entries between the paper files and the database.
Beside her, Paula Esteves slid a stack of prescription forms into the outgoing tray. Paula was forty-one, a senior administrative colleague who had worked at the clinic for over twelve years. She was quick, unsentimental, and unimpressed by administrative panic.
"Silva’s afternoon list is cleared," Paula said quietly. "Non-urgent routine checks shifted to Tuesday."
"Did you notify the patients?" Sofia asked, scanning her screen.
"Done," Paula said. "One complained, one agreed. Standard ratio." She glanced at the wall clock. "Take ten minutes, Sofia. You’ve been at that screen since eight."
"I’ll finish clearing the morning list first," Sofia said. "If I leave Vasconcelos with unverified charts, the afternoon will be worse."
"The afternoon is going to be worse anyway," Paula observed dryly. "Take ten minutes. The clinic won’t collapse, and your coffee is cold."
Sofia looked down at her mug. The black coffee she had poured three hours ago sat half-empty with a film on top. She let out a quiet breath, unclipped her staff badge, and set it on the desk.
The small staff room smelled of cold coffee and citrus cleaning spray. Sofia sat at the narrow laminate counter by the window, opening a plastic container of cold tuna salad and boiled potatoes she had packed the night before.
Five minutes later, Paula pushed the door open carrying a small yoghurt and a spoon. She sat on the stool next to Sofia.
"Vasconcelos is on patient fourteen," Paula said. "You’ve got ten minutes."
"Good," Sofia said, chewing slowly.
Paula set her spoon down and looked at Sofia sideways. "You’re on the early finish next Friday, right?"
"Yes. I swapped the shift."
"And you took Tuesday off last week," Paula noted, her tone conversational. "Plus the half-day three weeks ago."
"I made up the hours on Saturday," Sofia said softly.
"I know your hours are covered, Sofia," Paula said mildly, leaning her elbow on the counter. "I’m looking because I approve the swaps. You’ve rearranged four shifts in five weeks. School meetings, medical appointments, club meetings... plus your birthday last month."
Sofia took a sip of water from her flask. "It’s just a busy period. Karim’s work is unpredictable, and someone still has to handle Rayan’s appointments and paperwork."
Paula gave a light nod. She knew Rayan played in Sporting’s youth academy. "How is he doing? Still with the U16s?"
"Yes," Sofia said. "He’s still training."
"Must be intense," Paula said. "My nephew played regional basketball until he was sixteen. My sister spent three years living out of a car, eating sandwiches in cold gym car parks."
"It’s different with football," Sofia said, her voice dropping. "It isn’t just time. It’s... everything else around it."
Paula watched her closely. "You look tired, Sofia."
Sofia set her fork down inside the container. She stared out the narrow window towards the car park where an ambulance sat parked, its engine idling.
’I used to pray he’d just realise it was too hard,’ Sofia thought, the admission heavy in her chest. ’I wanted him to give it up before it broke him.’
"When he started at Sporting," Sofia said aloud, keeping her eyes on the glass, "I spent every month waiting for the letter that told us he wasn’t keeping up. I worried he’d waste his adolescence running after something impossible, fail his exams, and end up with nothing."
"Every parent with a kid in high-level sport worries about the backup plan," Paula said.
"No," Sofia said quietly. "It wasn’t just a backup plan. I wanted the decision made for him. I wanted the club to tell him no so he could come back to a normal life. To school, to something stable."
Paula took a bite of her yoghurt, listening quietly. "And now?"
Sofia turned her head slightly. "Now he’s progressing. We’ve already had someone trying to sell us representation before he could even prove who he was. Now I know contracts and agents are going to become real questions if Rayan keeps progressing."
She leaned her back against the wall, her hands flat on the table.
"Earlier, the danger was that he would fail," Sofia said. "Now I’m starting to see what happens if he doesn’t. He’s fifteen, Paula. If this becomes real, suddenly we’re talking about contracts, travel, money, agents, and people wanting things from him. He still forgets his dirty laundry in his room. I don’t know how quickly we’re supposed to make him ready for all of that."
Paula sat in silence for a few seconds. She tapped her plastic spoon against the rim of her cup.
"My sister used to worry about the same thing when her son got scouted," Paula said. "He quit at seventeen. Went to university. Still ended up stressed about work instead."
Sofia glanced at her.
Paula shrugged. "Different problems, that’s all. Ten minutes are up, Sofia. Vasconcelos just finished patient fourteen. The two o’clock files need sorting."
Sofia looked at her colleague, then gave a single, firm nod. "I’m right behind you."
By four-thirty, the heavy surge of afternoon patients had ebbed. Sofia processed the final prescription renewals, updated the digital log, and returned the physical medical folders to their racks in the archive room.
She locked her terminal at precisely five-fifteen.
Her neck was stiff when she stepped out of the clinic into the June heat.
When Sofia opened the door to the Olivais apartment at six-forty, the quiet of the hallway met her instantly.
She kicked off her shoes and carried her bag into the kitchen. On the drying rack beside the sink sat a single glass and a plate with breadcrumbs. Rayan had come home from training, eaten a quick snack, and gone to his room.
Sofia walked down the narrow corridor and pushed Rayan’s bedroom door open an inch.
The room smelled faintly of clean laundry. Rayan was lying on top of his bed with his legs propped on two pillows, a history textbook open across his chest. He turned his head as the door creaked.
"You’re late," Rayan said, his voice flat with post-workout fatigue.
Sofia stood in the doorway, her hand resting on the frame. She looked at his face. The slight dark circles under his eyes, the damp hair sticking to his forehead.
"Work," Sofia said simply.
Rayan looked at her for a second, accepted the answer without a second thought, and turned his attention back to the history book. "Dinner at seven-thirty?"
"Eight," Sofia replied. "I need thirty minutes."
"Okay," he said, turning a page.
Sofia pulled the door closed, leaving him in the quiet of his room.
She walked back into the kitchen, turned on the tap, and washed her hands thoroughly with soap. She opened the pantry cabinet, pulled out a bag of rice, and measured two cups into a saucepan.
Then she reached for her bag, pulled out her small paper diary, and flipped to next week’s grid. Using a black ballpoint pen, she carefully crossed out Friday afternoon’s shift, wrote 14:00 — shift swap in the margin, and drew a neat box around the date.
She capped the pen, laid it beside the cooker, and turned on the gas burner.