“I understand,” she said. “You should speak with the attending physician or patient services.”
“No, you don’t understand.” Mark stepped closer, lowering his voice. “My wife was admitted here. She was having complications. I went out for a short while, and now you’re telling me she left?”
The nurse’s expression tightened, not with fear, but with professional restraint.
“Sir, I’m going to ask you to lower your voice.”
Mark looked past her toward Emily’s room again.
The bed was stripped bare.
A thin blue mattress showed beneath the folded hospital blanket. The room had already been cleaned for the next woman, the next birth, the next crisis. The only remaining proof that Emily had ever been there was a vase of unopened flowers sitting by the window.
The card still hung from the ribbon.
Thinking of you.
—Mark’s Office Team
Not Mark.
His office.
