Silence.
Then, too quickly: “Don’t talk to anyone without me.”
Ryan wasn’t worried about the babies.
He was worried about the narrative.
By afternoon, the hospital issued a statement blaming a “procedural deviation during a staffing change.” The language was clean and hollow—like describing a typo instead of a catastrophe.
Alvarez wasn’t convinced.
He returned with a tablet. “Your husband signed in at 9:40 p.m. Did he leave the room?”
“Yes,” I said, remembering his pacing. “He went to the vending machines. Took a call.”
“Anyone else visit?”
I hesitated. “His mother. Donna. I was half asleep. She said she wanted to see the baby.”
I swallowed. “For a minute. Ryan stepped out.”
Alvarez’s jaw tightened. He stepped into the hallway and made a call. When he returned, his tone was sharper.
“We reviewed corridor footage. At 2:17 a.m., a woman matching Donna’s description left your hallway carrying a bundled infant. She returned minutes later without one.”
The room went silent.
Megan gasped. “That means—”
“We need to locate your mother-in-law immediately,” Alvarez said. “And your husband.”
Ryan arrived an hour later, dressed for business, eyes scanning the room like he was calculating exits. Donna followed, clutching a rosary, wearing the practiced expression of a woman ready to be wronged.
Alvarez stepped between us. “Ma’am, please wait outside.”
Ryan raised a hand. “We’re not speaking without a lawyer.”
“You’re entitled to one,” Alvarez said calmly. “But we have sufficient cause to ask questions.”
“Questions about what?” Donna snapped.
Alvarez showed her the footage. “Why you were seen carrying an infant out of the maternity hall at 2:17 a.m.”
Her face hardened. “I carried a blanket.”
