Cliffhanger:
I had picked up an extra shift. I dropped Olivia off at 6:30 a.m. She clung to me longer than usual, her small body trembling. “Be good, Livvy,” I said, kissing her forehead. I didn’t know that was the last time I would see the light in her eyes for a very long time.

The hospital was a war zone that day. A pile-up on the interstate meant the ER was flooded with trauma cases. I spent twelve hours running on adrenaline and caffeine, stitching wounds and soothing terrified patients.

At 3:00 p.m., my phone buzzed. A text from Mom: Olivia is fine. Busy day here. Don’t worry about calling.

I smiled, thinking she was being considerate.

At 6:00 p.m., during my only break, I called to check in. No answer. I called the landline. No answer. I texted Hannah: Heading out soon. How’s my girl?

No response.

A cold dread, heavy and irrational, settled in my gut. By 7:00 p.m., as I clocked out, the silence from my family felt deafening. I called Hannah again. This time, she picked up.

Hey, Megan,” she said. Her voice was too high, too casual.

Hi. I’m leaving work. Is Olivia ready?”

There was a pause. A long, static-filled silence that stretched until my skin prickled.

Actually… I was about to call you. Is she with you?”