A chill ran down my spine.

“And the other asked, ‘Does the mother know?’”

Lily’s voice dropped.

“The first one said, ‘She doesn’t need to. The paperwork will explain everything.’”

My heart began racing.

“That’s when they noticed me,” Lily continued. “They stopped talking and just stared at me.”

She rubbed her arms nervously.

“Then I tried to find Dad. I walked toward the elevators.”

“Did you find him?”

“No.”

Her eyes filled with tears.

“Because that’s when the woman stopped me.”

I felt my breath catch.

“She looked like a patient,” Lily said. “Gray hair, hospital gown. But she was walking around by herself.”

“What did she say?”

“She asked if I was the girl from room 312.”

Our room.

“I told her yes,” Lily said.

“She looked terrified and whispered, ‘Listen carefully. They’re going to take your brother.’”

My stomach dropped.

“When I asked why, she just shook her head,” Lily continued. “Then she shoved the note into my hand and told me to run.”

The room suddenly felt colder.

I glanced at the clock on the wall.

10:42 p.m.

Less than two hours until midnight.

If the warning was real, we didn’t have much time.

“Where’s your father?” I asked.

“He went to the front desk earlier,” Lily said. “About forty minutes ago.”

Too long.

The hallway outside the room was strangely quiet.

No carts.

No voices.

No nurses.

For a maternity floor, it felt unnaturally silent.

Slowly, I swung my legs over the side of the bed.

Pain shot through my body, but fear pushed me forward.

“Lily,” I said firmly, “bring me the baby.”

Her eyes widened.

“Mom… are we really leaving?”

I looked down at the note again.

Leave before midnight.

“Yes,” I said quietly.

She carefully lifted her newborn brother and placed him in my arms. I wrapped him tightly in the hospital blanket and grabbed the small bag beside the bed.

Lily moved toward the door and opened it a crack.

The hallway lights flickered softly.

Empty.

“Come on,” I whispered.

We stepped into the corridor.

And that’s when I saw them.

Two nurses standing near the station at the far end of the hall.

One of them looked up.

Our eyes met.

Her expression hardened instantly.

She picked up a phone.

“They’re leaving room 312,” she said.

My heart nearly stopped.

“Lily,” I whispered urgently.

“Run.”

She grabbed the bag and we hurried down the hallway, my body screaming with pain as I clutched my newborn close.

Behind us, I heard footsteps.

“Stop!” someone shouted.