“Where’s your father?” I asked.

“He went to the front desk earlier,” Lily said. “About forty minutes ago.”

Too long.

The hallway outside the room was strangely quiet.

No carts.

No voices.

No nurses.

For a maternity floor, it felt unnaturally silent.

Slowly, I swung my legs over the side of the bed.

Pain shot through my body, but fear pushed me forward.

“Lily,” I said firmly, “bring me the baby.”

Her eyes widened.

“Mom… are we really leaving?”

I looked down at the note again.

Leave before midnight.

“Yes,” I said quietly.

She carefully lifted her newborn brother and placed him in my arms. I wrapped him tightly in the hospital blanket and grabbed the small bag beside the bed.

Lily moved toward the door and opened it a crack.

The hallway lights flickered softly.

Empty.

“Come on,” I whispered.

We stepped into the corridor.

And that’s when I saw them.

Two nurses standing near the station at the far end of the hall.

One of them looked up.

Our eyes met.

Her expression hardened instantly.

She picked up a phone.

“They’re leaving room 312,” she said.

My heart nearly stopped.

“Lily,” I whispered urgently.

“Run.”

She grabbed the bag and we hurried down the hallway, my body screaming with pain as I clutched my newborn close.