“Your father would have said exactly that.” He stood, withdrew the motion, and tendered his resignation on the spot.

At the door he looked at the screen one last time.

“Live through this, Ifeoma.

I mean that.”

The transplant happened two days later — no speeches, no cameras, just a clear bag of cells dripping through a central line over hours, Emeka in the chair beside her the whole time, Winnie down the hall with a folded drawing in her backpack.

Then the waiting.