day Vanessa was supposed to deliver, I texted her that morning.

No response.

I tried again around lunch.

Nothing.

Then I called.

Straight to voicemail.

Marcus wasn’t answering either.

I told myself not to panic.

Vanessa had warned me that when labor started, she might not want anyone hovering around her.

“She might shut everyone out,” Marcus had joked.

So I tried to believe that was what was happening.

That night, I placed my phone on the pillow beside me.

I barely slept.

At 5:17 the next morning, it rang.

I answered immediately.

“Hello?”

A woman said, “Is this Rick?”

Something in her voice made my stomach tighten before she even identified herself.

“Yes.”

“I’m calling from St. Matthew’s Hospital. Your sister listed you as her emergency contact.”

I sat upright.

“Is Vanessa okay?”

There was a pause.

“Your sister discharged herself approximately six hours ago.”

I stared into

the darkness.

“What?”

“She left the hospital.”

My first thought was that she had experienced some kind of medical crisis.

Maybe she had panicked.

Maybe Marcus had taken her somewhere.

Then I asked the question that changed my life.

“Where are the babies?”

Another pause.

“They’re here.”

I stopped breathing.

“What do you mean they’re there?”

The nurse lowered her voice.

“The babies are still at the hospital.”

Alone.

I don’t remember getting dressed.

I don’t remember locking my door.

I remember driving too fast.

I remember running red lights.

And I remember thinking over and over:

Something happened to Vanessa.

There has to be an explanation.

When I reached the maternity floor, a nurse led me into a quiet private room.

Three bassinets stood beneath the window.

Three tiny newborn girls.

Beside them sat Vanessa’s purse.

A few personal belongings.

And a folded note.

No Vanessa.

No Marcus.

I