Normally, she would have identified that rickety stool as a potential hazard right away and kept Eli from climbing on it—even Calhoun had warned him about the thing—but today was no normal day. Today her mommy radar was adrift somewhere in the Bermuda Triangle, compass needles spinning, coordinates unknown.

“Shh, baby, it’s all right,” she said, not even able to hear herself anymore. He calmed a little, allowing himself to be held though he was still crying vigorously and wailing “Owwie, owwie,” only wanting the hurt to go away. Sarah cradled him, rocking him gently, the way she had when he was little and colic kept him up through the night. After a few hitching breaths, he plugged his thumb into his mouth, a long-broken habit from infancy, and silenced himself.

“That’s my big boy.” Without realizing, she’d been crooning to him some made-up lullaby with nonsense words, train, spoon, gingerbread moon. At home he’d sit for an hour or more and listen while she played the piano, improvising a melody to keep him entertained. He gazed up at her now, face flushed and shining with sweat and tears, noisily squelching his thumb. “We’ll get you fixed up, honey, okay? I promise we will.”

But, oh the irony, here they were already in a hospital. Sarah brought him to her shoulder, stood up—there must still be icepacks, maybe even aspirin somewhere in the ER—and glanced at the video screens. The monitor she had been watching showed that the elevator was now empty, and she had hopes of seeing Calhoun or Dr. Walker somewhere down these ghostly gray halls.

Or Mike.

Yes, or Mike. And just how much of an all-day sucker did that make her? He’d promised her he’d come looking for them. Exactly how long did she plan on waiting down here for him? At this point it was safe to assume that he’d almost certainly forgotten they were here.

Except—

Except some infinitesimal hope-speck wanted desperately to believe otherwise. The hope was tiny but potentially catastrophic, a cancer cell, a third-world nation with a nuke. It was the same part that wanted what she’d found in Mike’s pocket last night to be a colossal misunderstanding, the part that had wanted to believe him five years ago when he’d said, No, of course not, I’d never do something like that, Sarah—Jesus, how could you even think such a thing?

Five years ago and never quite the same after, despite his promise of never again. Five years of feeling like the security guard in a store full of incredibly fragile and expensive items, watching him so carefully, even after the baby came, knowing it was smothering him but somehow unable to stop.

I’ll meet you in the lobby.

Had he actually said that?

Yes.

Did she believe him?

No.

So it was crazy, wasn’t it, waiting here. She’d waited long enough. Eli was hurt, if she couldn’t find a doctor on one of the TV screens she would drive Eli home, or to the outpatient center a mile from their house.