My sister gave birth, so my husband and I went to the hospital to visit her. But after seeing the baby, my husband suddenly pulled me out of the room. “Call the police right now!” I was confused and asked, “Why?” My husband’s face had turned pale. “Didn’t you notice? That baby is…” At that moment, I was speechless and called the police with trembling hands.

Silence slammed into the hallway.

Hannah’s knees buckled, and I caught her just in time. “That’s impossible,” she sobbed. “I felt him move. I gave birth. I heard him cry.”

Detective Kim’s expression darkened. “Then we’re dealing with something very serious.”

Another officer emerged from the room carrying the bassinet paperwork. “The infant’s footprints don’t match the prints taken during delivery,” he said. “Different baby.”

My stomach twisted violently. “So where is Hannah’s baby?”

No one answered right away.

Then the nurse whispered, barely audible, “There was an emergency transfer this morning… another newborn was taken to the NICU. The timing overlaps.”

Hannah screamed.

And Mark closed his eyes, like he’d been afraid of this answer all along.

Detective Kim turned to us. “We’re locking down the ward,” she said. “No one leaves until we know where that baby is.”

Because this wasn’t a mistake.

This was a crime.

The maternity ward went into full lockdown. Security guards blocked exits. Nurses were pulled aside one by one. Charts were seized. Phones confiscated.

Hannah was inconsolable, repeating the same sentence over and over: “They took my baby.”