Ethan hurried down the corridor toward Room 314, bouquet in hand. He could still picture her tired smile and hear the fragile, miraculous cry of their newborn. The antiseptic tang of the hospital clung to the air, but it did nothing to dim his joy—he was finally coming home to his family, ready to celebrate.
The door stood ajar. Inside, a rumpled bed, a dark monitor, and an untouched IV greeted him. The bassinet sat empty. No tiny breaths, no soft lull of a newborn’s chest. Only the curtain swayed gently in the still, stale room.
“Maybe a checkup?” he muttered, stepping into the hall, confusion tightening his chest. A nurse passed by, glancing at the empty room, then at him. Her eyes widened in a flash of worry. Ethan’s pulse surged, foreboding and raw. He knew, before she spoke, that the news would not be simple—and it would not be good.
Hours earlier, the early morning air had been damp, the street half-asleep, as Ethan guided Lina into the car. Her hand gripped his, knuckles white with pain. They’d rehearsed this trip countless times, yet now the world had narrowed to breath, contraction, and the blur of hospital lights ahead.
Inside the delivery ward, nurses moved like shadows with purpose. Beads of sweat traced Lina’s temples as she fought through each wave of pain. Ethan stayed at her side, murmuring comfort, counting her breaths. The monitor’s beeping mirrored her laboring rhythm. Hours folded into moments, until a sharp, piercing cry cut through the thick air—life announcing itself in full, irrepressible force.
Ethan’s legs moved almost on their own, carrying him down the corridor. Each step echoed, hollow and unnerving. He rounded the corner toward the nurses’ station, his voice cracking. “Excuse me—Room 314? Lina… my wife? Our baby?”
The nurse looked up from her clipboard, eyes wide with a flicker of panic that mirrored his own. “Sir… they’re not here,” she said carefully. “We—we don’t know where they went.”
A cold wave of disbelief swept over him. “Not here? But… I was just—” His words faltered, swallowed by the sterile hum of the fluorescent lights.
Another nurse appeared, whispering urgently to the first, then glancing at Ethan. “There’s been… an incident,” she said, hesitating. “We’re trying to contact them. Please, sir, wait here.”
Ethan’s hands clenched the bouquet so tightly the petals crumpled. The world around him felt suspended—every detail exaggerated: the beeping of a distant monitor, the squeak of wheels against linoleum, the soft swish of curtains in the empty room.
He swallowed hard, trying to force calm into his racing chest. Questions collided inside his mind. Had something happened in the few minutes he’d been gone? Or… had someone taken them?