“Emily,” I murmured weakly, trying to reassure her, “what are you talking about?”
She shook her head hard. “There’s no time. Please, Mom. They’re coming.”
Her eyes flicked toward the door. She squeezed my hand, her fingers icy.
“I heard Grandma on the phone. She said everything would be ‘handled’ today. She said you wouldn’t be a problem anymore.”
My heart slammed violently in my chest.
Mark’s mother, Linda Reynolds, had never hidden her dislike for me. She blamed me for Mark leaving his lucrative corporate job to start a small business. She resented that I already had a child from a previous marriage. And she had made her feelings about this baby painfully clear—she didn’t want another grandchild tying Mark to me permanently.
Still… this was a hospital. Cameras. Staff. Rules.
“Emily,” I whispered, forcing calm, “adults sometimes say strange things.”
“She was talking to a doctor,” Emily said, tears gathering in her eyes. “The one with the silver watch. She said you signed papers. But you didn’t. I know you didn’t.”
A wave of cold crept up my spine.
Earlier that morning, in the middle of labor, someone had placed papers in front of me while contractions tore through my body. I remembered being barely conscious, Mark and Linda standing close, the pen slipping from my hand.
Emily dropped to the floor and lifted the bed skirt.
“Please,” she whispered. “Just trust me.”
Every logical thought told me this was absurd. But another instinct—older, deeper, the one that had kept my daughter safe her entire life—screamed louder.
Ignoring the pain, I slid off the bed and crawled underneath just as the door handle turned.
From the floor, I saw shoes enter the room.
Then Linda’s calm voice cut through the air.
“Doctor, she should be ready now.”
The world beneath the bed narrowed to shadows, dust, and sound. My heart pounded so hard I was sure they could hear it. Emily stood stiff beside the bed, her small fists clenched.
The man with the silver watch spoke evenly.
“Mrs. Reynolds, the consent documents were already signed. Postpartum outcomes can be unpredictable.”
Losing his wife.
My stomach twisted violently. This wasn’t medical care. This was removal.
Another nurse entered—I recognized her shoes immediately, white with a thin blue stripe. She hesitated.
“Doctor… her vitals were stable earlier.”
The doctor paused. “We’ll reassess.”
They moved closer. The mattress dipped slightly. My muscles screamed as I stayed frozen, breath locked in my chest.
Then Emily spoke.
“She isn’t here.”
The silence that followed was crushing.
“What do you mean?” Linda snapped.
“My mom went to the bathroom,” Emily said quietly.
“That’s not possible,” the doctor replied. “She wouldn’t be allowed to—”
“Allowed to what?”
Mark’s voice came from the doorway.
The door opened wider. His shoes stopped abruptly.
Linda laughed too quickly. “Oh, Mark, we were just—”
“Why is a doctor in here talking about consent forms?” Mark cut in. “I just spoke to the nurse’s station. They said my wife hasn’t been cleared for anything.”
The nurse with the blue-striped shoes stepped back. “Sir, I was told—”
