“Maybe not to you it isn’t,” I said.

“Mrs. Olson, a patient of this hospital gave birth to a child, which, according to the hospital’s point of view, makes her the mother of the child, and she is free to do as she pleases with her own child,” said the director. “And I believe that is correct according to the legalities of the state.” The director looked at Hal, and Hal looked at the floor.

“We had an agreement with her,” I said with as much self-control as I could muster.

“And that is between you and her,” said the director. “As far as this hospital is concerned, this young woman—your surrogate—had every right to go wherever she wished to go.”

“You shouldn’t have let her.” I got up and walked to the window.

“Forgive me, but that is not our job,” she said. “You are implying that we had an obligation to keep her here. We did not.”

“You knew she was a surrogate, that’s all we’re saying,” said Hal, finally chiming in.

“Mr. Olson, I have seen many things in my line of work, and there is one thing I know for sure about human beings: they are unpredictable.”

“We need to see the evidence.” I paced each corner of the room, as if there might be clues in every nook and cranny.

Hal moved out of my way.

“What did it look like?” I said. “How did they know she was gone? What did they see?”

“It’s possible there was foul play,” said Hal without much conviction in his voice.

“As I said, we have notified our security team,” said the director.

“I want to talk to them,” I said.

“I’m sorry, talk to whom?” The director looked annoyed.

“Everyone,” I said. “I want to talk to your security team, the janitors, the nurses. Who discovered she was gone? Who first saw the room? Who took the stuff out of here? I want their names.”

Hal crossed his arms and leaned against the window ledge. He exhaled and looked at the floor.

“I’m afraid that’s not part of our procedure, Mrs. Olson,” said the director. “At least not at this stage.”

“Okay, and what stage are we in here, exactly?”

There was a knock at the door and a friendly woman’s voice trilling, “Helloooo,” the same way a visitor would have sounded if I had been the new mom in the bed, holding her child.

“Hi, can we come in?” said a male voice. It was Jim, our social worker, and Carol, our minister. They had arrived early for the transfer ceremony.

“Oh, for cripe’s sake! Carol, Jim,” I said, rushing toward them. “I’m so sorry.”

“What is it? Is everything all right?” said Carol, taking my hands in hers.

“You don’t know?” I said.

“No, we . . .” Jim looked at Carol, and Carol finished his sentence: “Don’t . . . know anything.”