Ethan’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, knuckles white, as the memory folded over him. Lina, unflinching and self-reliant, had always carried the weight of her past with quiet grace. It had drawn him in, made him want to be the anchor she had never allowed herself to have.
He remembered the nights they stayed late in the office, laughing over spreadsheets, sharing tiny victories and insignificant complaints. He remembered the way she’d rest her head against his shoulder during long walks home, how her laugh could thread through his chest and leave him unsteady.
And now—five years later, in the heat of a city afternoon, with the baby’s fragile life wrapped in blankets and Lina nowhere in sight—those memories felt both tender and painfully distant. The past whispered of love, of trust, of safety; the present screamed of uncertainty, fear, and absence.
Ethan blinked against the sun streaking across the dashboard, forcing himself to focus on the road ahead. He couldn’t dwell on what was lost in memory; he had to act. Every familiar detail of their shared life—the coffee shop near the office, the corner they always crossed together, the tiny apartment that had become home—was now a potential clue, a thread to follow to find her and their daughter.
Somewhere out there, Lina was moving, breathing, deciding. And he would reach her. He had to.
The man’s smile faded slightly, replaced by a careful, measured look. “Yes…yes, I remember her. She’s been here a few times over the last month or so. Orders for lunch, always alone. Sometimes she stayed for a while, sometimes left quickly. Nothing unusual—she’s quiet, polite. Why do you ask?”
Ethan swallowed hard, fighting the surge of panic that threatened to rise again. “It’s urgent,” he said, his voice low but firm. “She’s missing. Hours ago, she left the hospital after giving birth…with our baby. I don’t know where she went. Did she seem…distraught? Worried? Meeting someone?”
The man’s brow furrowed, his tone cautious. “Not that I noticed. She seemed…focused, maybe preoccupied, but calm. Sometimes she’d look at her phone a lot. I didn’t think much of it. She never mentioned anyone coming to meet her.”
Ethan’s heart thudded harder. Focused, preoccupied…calm? None of it made sense. His mind raced. Every step, every detail mattered now. “Do you know if she left any messages here? A number, a note? Anything at all?”
The man shook his head slowly. “Nothing. She paid cash each time. Left immediately after finishing. Sorry—I wish I could be more help.”
Ethan nodded, forcing himself to keep control. He thanked the man and stepped back into the sunlight, eyes scanning the street, thoughts colliding. Lina had been here, alive, but what had she been thinking? And who—if anyone—was waiting for her now?