After Tyson left, my in-laws and I stayed by her side.
I glanced at the clock—it was about two in the morning.
In my last life, my daughter disappeared from the hospital at exactly 2:10 a.m.
If I could make sure to stay by my in-laws’ side that entire night and watch over Niah, maybe those false accusations wouldn’t hold any weight.
And so I forced myself to stay strong and kept vigil with them.
But at exactly 2:00 a.m., Niah suddenly cried that she was hungry.
Because of her fussing during dinner, none of us had eaten all night.
I opened a delivery app, but all the restaurants near the hospital were closed at this hour.
Everything I could order was something she couldn’t eat, so reluctantly, Priscilla got up to buy some microwave burritos.
Since Harold was still here, I nodded in agreement.
About three minutes before 2:10 a.m., Niah began crying. “Mommy! Mommy! My hand hurts!”
Harold and I saw it—her IV needle had slipped out. Her hand was swollen and bruised purple.
Although I quickly pulled the needle out, Harold still wanted to find a nurse.
But I stopped him. “I can press on it, that should be enough.”
I pressed the button on the bedside panel, but no nurse came.