Everything I could order was something she couldn’t eat, so reluctantly, Priscilla got up to buy some microwave burritos.

Since Harold was still here, I nodded in agreement.

About three minutes before 2:10 a.m., Niah began crying. “Mommy! Mommy! My hand hurts!”

Harold and I saw it—her IV needle had slipped out. Her hand was swollen and bruised purple.

Although I quickly pulled the needle out, Harold still wanted to find a nurse.

But I stopped him. “I can press on it, that should be enough.”

I pressed the button on the bedside panel, but no nurse came.

Right at 2:10 a.m., Niah’s cries turned desperate, and she started to lose her breath.

Harold stood up in distress. “I’ll go find a nurse.”

I grabbed his arm. “Dad, it’s just a slipped needle. She’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

Before he could say more, our daughter’s lips turned purple. Suddenly, she vomited violently.

Harold’s face went pale. “This is a reaction to the medication! If we don’t act fast, she could die!”

With that, he pushed me aside and rushed out.

“Mommy…” My daughter’s little face was deathly pale as she looked at me. “It hurts so bad. I want… water.”

She was my flesh and blood. I couldn’t bear to see her suffer, so I turned to pour her a cup of warm water.

But when I turned back, the bed where she had been lying… was empty!

Only the vomit she’d left behind and my phone, still playing the cartoon, were there.

When Harold hurried back with a nurse, he asked, “Where’s Niah? Let’s get the nurse to check on her!”

My heart sank. “Dad, didn’t you see her leave just now?”

He stomped his foot in frustration. “I just came from the reception desk with the nurse, Sadie! No one else went by!”

The hospital’s reception desk faces two elevators—if anyone passed through, they would have been seen.

But neither Harold nor the nurse saw anyone, except for Priscilla, who had gone downstairs earlier.

We searched everywhere inside and outside the hospital but couldn’t find a trace of our daughter.

We checked the emergency stairwells up and down—still… no sign.

‘My six-year-old daughter just vanished without a trace!’

When Priscilla returned with a bag of food, she broke down crying in despair.

I forced myself to stay calm. ‘If we don’t find Niah soon, she might end up like in my past life—suffering and broken!’

With that thought, I immediately called the cops.