Chapter 7

Ethan's POV

I reached Memorial Hermann a week after the flood.

That week, I had been handling the aftermath, giving interviews, managing the press, keeping Mandy calm in front of the cameras. I assumed Sophie and the baby were recovering in the hospital. That the baby had caught a chill. That Sophie was angry with me. I figured I would come when she had cooled down and bring them both home.

I even stopped at the gift shop downstairs and picked up a can of baby formula and a bunch of white roses that were entirely wrong for the occasion.

The elevator doors opened and I saw the lawyer first.

He was standing at the end of the hallway, black document bag in hand. When he saw me, nothing on his face changed.

I stopped walking.

"Why are you here?"

He reached into the bag and pulled out a folder, holding it out toward me.

"Mr. Shaw. Ms. Gray asked me to deliver these."

I didn't take it.

"Where is she?"

"The documents explain everything."

I looked at him steadily.

"I asked you where she is."

He extended the folder another inch.

"Ms. Gray has authorized me to handle all legal matters between the two of you. The waiver of marital assets, the power of attorney, the equipment donation list, all signed and in effect."

The color drained from my face slowly.

"She just had a baby. You let her sign all of that?"

The lawyer met my eyes. His tone didn't move.

"She requested it."

"Get out of my way."

I pushed past him and went straight to the room.

The door wasn't locked.

I pushed it open and saw the empty bed first.

The sheets were tucked smooth. The pillow was centered. The chair had been pushed back under the desk. On the nightstand, a hospital gown was folded in a neat square, white and cold-looking.

On top of the gown was a clear sealed bag.

On top of the bag was a cracked bracelet.

I stood in the doorway. The formula hit the floor.

The white roses scattered, stems rolling to the foot of the bed.

I walked over and picked up the bracelet.

There was a bite mark on the clasp.

Deep.

I recognized it.

This was the bracelet I had put on Sophie's wrist myself. The day the old dam gave way, she had been sitting in the rescue tent with her arm in bandages. I had knelt and clasped it for her, and told her: even if the sky came down, I would find her.

Now the screen was cracked.

She had left it behind.

My fingers locked up. My eyes moved down to the sealed bag beneath.

Inside, folded small, was a swaddling cloth.

It was very small. Clean in a way that felt wrong.

I reached for it, and the moment my fingertips touched the plastic, I pulled back. The weight was off. Too light to press against.

The seal had been pressed down very firmly.

I tore it open after two tries.

The cloth came free. There was a small stain at one corner, faint yellow, the kind that doesn't wash out. It smelled like hospital antiseptic and, very faintly, like mud and floodwater.

My throat tightened.

I had never held that baby.

The day he turned one month old, Sophie sent me a text asking if I had time to come home and see him. I told her I was busy.

After that, I never heard from her again.

I pressed the cloth back into the bag, but my hands were shaking too badly to get the seal to line up. The nurse took the bag from me. Sophie had left a belongings transfer form before discharge, and handed it to the lawyer to take with him.

I held the bracelet and pressed the power button.

The screen flickered twice, then lit up in a patchwork of broken blue.

The local log opened automatically.

Line after line of GPS transmissions.

The night of the flood. Building Three, Riverside District.

Every two seconds.

For hours.

My breathing went wrong all at once.

I kept scrolling.

Half the receiver log had been corrupted by water damage. But the last field was perfectly legible.

Blocked.

My thumb stopped on the screen.

The cracked glass made it hard to read clearly.

The room was quiet.

The lawyer was still outside the door. He hadn't come in.

I sat down slowly on the edge of the bed, the bracelet in my hands. The hospital gown crumpled under me. The sealed bag slid onto my knee.

I looked at the cloth in my hands. Then at the bracelet.

A baby had died the night I crossed the river to the other bank.

A woman had sent me her location every two seconds from a rooftop.

I never received it.

My receiver had blocked her.

I snapped my head up. My eyes were shot through with red. "Who touched my account?"

The lawyer didn't answer.

From the hallway came the sound of a nurse's cart, wheels rolling over tile, stopping outside the door.

The nurse glanced at the empty bed, then at what I was holding, and looked away.

I tightened my grip on the bracelet. The cracked frame dug into my palm.

Blood seeped between my fingers and dripped onto the clear sealed bag.