Fiction: When the enigmatic artist Mira dies suddenly, her nurse, Sona, comes under suspicion

At the start of my shift the next evening, my first task was to change Mira’s sheets. I walked into her room to find Dr Mishra pressing on her abdomen. Mira’s face was pinched. Her breathing was labored. When the doctor saw me, he said, “Nurse, could you help me for a moment?” “Of course.” I set the sheets down on the only chair in the room. As soon as Mira saw me, she said, “Sona! Please…” She held out her hand for me to hold. She looked frightened. Her forehead was shiny with sweat. I clasped her hand. “Just here.” He placed my free hand just below Mira’s navel. Surprised that he would ask me to do something nurses generally didn’t, and even more surprised that he touched my hand, I pressed lightly on Mira’s belly. She let out a yelp that made my stomach cramp. I tried not to grimace. The doctor handed me his stethoscope. His body was so close I could hear him breathe, smell his lime aftershave. I moved the chest piece of the stethoscope to the area where my hand had been, keeping my expression neutral so as not to alarm Mira. I looked...

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