Page 89 of Ruthless Serenade

"They must have taken her for a last-minute test," I mutter, trying to quiet the whisper of unease in my chest.

That’s when I spot Mr. Hoppy on the bedside table. Sharon’s cherished stuffed rabbit never leaves her side - not for X-rays, not for blood draws, not for anything. She’d sooner give up candy than let go of that worn-out bunny, especially in a hospital.

I move to the nightstand, my movements mechanical. Her small backpack is still there, untouched. Everything I’d hastily thrown together that terrifying night when the ambulance came is still packed neatly inside. The pajamas she always wears. Her favorite book. Her rainbow hair ties.

Strange.

Very strange.

"A nurse will know," I tell myself, but the hallway beyond her door is a desert of sterile silence. Only a janitor pushes his cart of cleaning supplies, the squeaking wheels echoing off the empty walls. That knot in my stomach tightens.

Stop overreacting, Mindy.

I sink into one of those uncomfortable plastic chairs that line the corridor, watching as occasional patients hurry past. The wall clock ticks with maddening slowness, each minute stretching like taffy. Ten of them crawl by as I sit there, my eyes bouncing between the corridor and Sharon’s empty room. My fingers tap out an anxious rhythm against my thigh.

They’ll bring her back soon.

Finally, I notice movement. A consulting physician hurries past the reception desk, white coat billowing behind him. I recognize his face, though he’s not Sharon’s doctor. But at this point, I’ll take any answers I can get.

"Excuse me," I call out.

He turns, offering a practiced smile. "Good morning. May I help you?"

"Good morning..." I glance at his nametag, "Dr. Patel. I’m Mindy Williams. I’m here to collect my daughter, Sharon. She’s supposed to be discharged this morning."

"Ah yes, Sharon!" His face brightens with recognition. "She’s just here in room 408."

"That’s just it," I say, my fingers twisting together. "Her room is empty."

Dr. Patel’s smile flickers, then fades. "Empty?" He reaches for his chart, professional efficiency masking what might beconfusion. "Let me check..." His eyes scan the pages, his forehead creasing. "She is scheduled for discharge today. No tests or procedures noted for this morning."

"Could someone have taken her for a final check-up?" The question comes out smaller than I intended.

He shakes his head, already reaching for his phone. "Not without it being recorded here. Let me find out what’s happening."

I watch him walk away down the corridor, his white coat a retreating beacon in the sterile light. His voice echoes off the walls, growing fainter until he disappears around the corner.

So, I wait.

And wait.

The antiseptic hospital smell seems stronger now, choking me as I stand rooted to the spot, my nerves drawn bowstring-tight. Every tick of that damn clock on the wall is hammering against my skull. My eyes stay fixed on the corner where Dr. Patel vanished, willing him to return with my daughter skipping beside him.

But when Dr. Patel finally reappears, he’s alone. The friendly doctor from moments ago is gone, replaced by a ghost-white figure whose expression makes my blood run cold. He walks toward me like a man carrying the weight of the world.

"Ms. Williams," he begins, his voice shaking slightly, "I don’t know how to tell you this. I’m afraid I have some... disturbing news."

The blood drains from my face so fast the corridor tilts. What the hell does he mean? Where is my daughter? My heartslams against my ribs with such violence I swear it’s visible through my blouse. My mouth opens, but no sound comes out. I can only stare at him, desperately trying to read his expression.

He draws a shaky breath. "In my nearly thirty years at St. Mary’s, I’ve never... I mean, this is unprecedented..."

"Doctor. Where is my daughter?" The words escape me, scraped raw with fear.

Dr. Patel swallows hard. "Miss Williams, it seems that Sharon was already collected by a relative."

My stomach lurches violently. A relative? Did Maron come to get her? "What do you mean?" The words wheeze out.

"A woman signed for her and picked her up barely an hour ago. She claimed to be Sharon’s mother," Dr. Patel explains.

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