Chapter 3

I woke with my hand resting on an empty belly.

Pain burned beneath the dressing, but the absence frightened me more. There was no bassinet beside the bed, no bundled newborn, only Maya asleep in a chair with her coat folded beneath her head.

"Where is my baby?"

Maya woke so quickly that the coat fell to the floor. Before she could answer, a doctor entered and closed the chart in her hands.

"Lily is alive," she said. "She needed help breathing after delivery, so she’s in the NICU. She’s stable, but we’re watching her closely."

The doctor explained that I had lost a significant amount of blood and could not stand yet.

Maya walked over and handed me her phone.

A photo from the incubator. Lily lay under bright lights. A plastic mask covered her tiny face. Thin wires crossed her chest. A hospital wristband wrapped around an ankle no thicker than my thumb.

I pressed the cold phone against my chest until the edges hurt.

A nurse walked in with a clipboard.

"I need to update your file," she said softly. "Does your husband still have medical clearance for you and the baby?"

I looked at the paper. Ethan's name was printed in neat black ink.

I took the pen. My hand was weak, but my grip was tight. I drew a hard, thick line straight through his name. I wrote Maya's name in the emergency box.

"No," I told the nurse.

She nodded and took the clipboard away. She did not ask questions.

She handed me a clear plastic belongings bag. My phone was inside. My wedding ring sat in the bottom corner of the bag.

The nurses took it off before the surgery.

The gold ring looked cheap and useless now.

I pulled my phone out. It was plugged into a portable charger. I turned the screen on.

Two new messages from Ethan. They were sent while the doctors were cutting my stomach open.

Found Cooper in a garage. Rachel is totally fine.

Heading back to the highway. Where are you?

He wrote the messages like I was just waiting at a coffee shop. Like I was safe. My nineteen ignored calls sat directly above his texts.

I did not type a reply. I did not cry.

I opened our location app. I clicked a single button and turned off my sharing.

I looked up at Maya.

"The house alarm code is 8824," I said.

Maya’s face tightened. She stood up immediately. "What do you need?"

"My passport. My laptop. Some clothes," I said. "And everything I bought for Lily. Pack it all into your car."

Maya did not ask if I was sure. She did not tell me to calm down. She just grabbed her keys.

"I am on it," she said. She walked out the door.

I was alone.

I opened my email. I started a message to Laura, the family law attorney. I attached the screenshot of Ethan's blue dot driving north. I attached the call log of nineteen rejected calls.

Laura replied fast. She sent a digital legal petition.

Down the hall, a machine was fighting to breathe for my newborn daughter.

Inside my room, the visitor chair was completely empty.

I signed my name at the bottom of the screen. I hit send.

My phone buzzed. Petition Submitted.

Ethan’s messages were still above it.

Heading back to the highway. Where are you?

I stared at the last question.

Nineteen times tonight, I had called him because our daughter might die.

He had answered none of them.

Now, seven hours later, Ethan finally wanted to know where his wife was.

I locked the screen.

It was the only question from him that no longer needed my answer.