Chapter 5: Room 314
The hospital hallway smelled like bleach and rain.
Leah sat beside Ava beneath a flickering ceiling light while Daniel pressed a towel against the cut above his eyebrow.
“You're sure you want to do this?”” Leah asked.
Daniel nodded.
“We don't have a choice.””
Ava watched him.
“You saw Mommy?””
Daniel shook his head.
“Not yet.””
“But you said she's alive.””
“I found proof.””
“What proof?””
Daniel looked toward the hospital elevator.
“Room 314.””
Leah folded her arms.
“Start talking.””
Daniel sighed.
“I was twenty-nine when my wife, Naomi, gave birth.””
Ava's face tightened at the name.
“Naomi?””
“My mother's name was Naomi too,” Daniel said.
“That's why we never used it for you.””
Ava whispered, “My name was Naomi.””
Daniel looked at her.
“Yes.””
Leah felt the weight of that answer.
Daniel continued.
“Eight years ago, the hospital told me our daughter died shortly after birth.””
“And you believed them?””
“I saw a body.””
Leah went still.
“What?””
Daniel's eyes dropped.
“I saw a tiny blanket. A tiny bracelet. They showed me a baby.””
Ava stared at him.
“That wasn't me.””
“I know.””
“How?””
Daniel pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket.
“Because I found the original hospital record tonight.””
He handed it to Leah.
The document listed a newborn female.
Time of birth.
Weight.
Blood type.
Then one handwritten note:
*Transferred to Room 314.*
Leah looked at Daniel.
“They told you she died.””
“Yes.””
“But she was transferred.””
“Yes.””
“Why?””
Daniel's voice became quiet.
“I don't know.””
Ava suddenly reached for the paper.
“That's my blood type.””
Leah looked at her.
“How do you know?””
“My mom told me.””
Daniel stared at the child.
“How much did your mother tell you?””
Ava looked away.
“She said you didn't hurt us.””
Daniel's eyes filled.
“But someone wanted me to think I did.””
Leah leaned forward.
“Who?””
Daniel didn't answer.
The elevator doors opened.
An elderly nurse stepped out carrying a stack of files.
Daniel stood.
“Excuse me.””
The nurse glanced at him.
“Yes?””
“Room 314.””
Her expression changed.
Only for a second.
But Leah saw it.
“What about it?”” the nurse asked.
“Was it used eight years ago?””
The nurse's eyes moved toward Ava.
Then back to Daniel.
“I don't remember.””
“You should.””
“I was not working this floor then.””
Daniel stepped closer.
“You know something.””
The nurse's voice became defensive.
“You need to leave.””
Leah stood.
“We're not leaving.””
The nurse lowered her voice.
“Mr. Williams, you don't understand what you're asking.””
Daniel froze.
Leah noticed.
“How does she know your name?””
The nurse backed away.
“I need to go.””
Daniel caught her wrist—not violently, but firmly.
“Who told you about me?””
The nurse stared at him.
Then she whispered:
“Your wife.””
Daniel released her.
“Naomi?””
The nurse nodded.
“She came here three years ago.””
Leah's mouth fell open.
“She was alive?””
“Yes.””
“Where is she now?””
The nurse looked around.
Then leaned close.
“She came looking for the same file.””
“What happened?””
“She found it.””
“And?””
The nurse's eyes filled with fear.
“Someone followed her.””
Ava stepped forward.
“Who?””
The nurse looked directly at the little girl.
“The man with the ring.””
Ava went pale.
Leah crouched beside her.
“What ring?””
Ava stared at the floor.
“A black ring.””
Daniel's face hardened.
“What did he do to my wife?””
The nurse shook her head.
“I don't know.””
“Where is the file?””
The nurse pointed down the hallway.
“Records.””
Daniel started walking.
Leah followed.
Ava stayed beside her.
They reached the records office.
The door was locked.
Daniel tried the handle.
Nothing.
“Step back,” he said.
He slammed his shoulder against it.
Once.
Twice.
The lock broke.
Inside, shelves filled the room.
Patient files.
Boxes.
Dust.
Daniel searched frantically.
“314,” he muttered.
Leah scanned the labels.
Then Ava pointed.
“There.””
A thin brown folder sat on the highest shelf.
Daniel reached for it.
A photograph slipped from between the pages.
It landed face-up.
Leah picked it up.
It showed Naomi sitting in a hospital chair.
Older.
Thinner.
But unmistakably alive.
She was holding a little girl.
Ava.
On the back was another date.
Three years ago.
And a sentence:
*I came back for my daughter. They wouldn't let me take her.*
Daniel stared at the photograph.
Then his knees nearly gave out.
Leah caught his arm.
“Daniel.””
He shook his head.
“She came back.””
Ava reached for the picture.
“Mommy.””
Daniel looked at his daughter.
For the first time, he touched her cheek.
“I should have found you.””
Ava didn't pull away.
“You didn't know.””
“I should have.””
“You didn't know.””
Daniel closed his eyes.
Then Leah noticed something inside the folder.
A second document.
She pulled it out.
It was a transfer authorization.
The signature at the bottom belonged to the hospital administrator.
But the witness signature was different.
Leah read it twice.
Her face changed.
“Daniel.””
“What?””
She turned the paper around.
“This is your mother-in-law's signature.””
Daniel stared.
“That can't be.””
“She authorized the transfer.””
“To where?””
Leah looked at the final line.
There was an address.
Not a hospital.
Not a foster home.
A private residential property.
Daniel whispered, “That's where I grew up.””
Ava looked between them.
“Why would she send me there?””
Nobody answered.
Then the records office phone rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Daniel picked it up.
“Hello?””
A man's voice answered.
“You found the file.””
Daniel went rigid.
“Who is this?””
“You've always been a slow learner, Daniel.””
“Where's my wife?””
A pause.
Then:
“Ask your daughter what happened the night she was born.””
Daniel looked at Ava.
The little girl was trembling.
Leah whispered, “Ava?””
The voice on the phone continued.
“Because she remembers.””
The line went dead.
Ava suddenly covered her ears.
“I don't want to remember.””
Daniel crouched in front of her.
“Remember what?””
Ava looked at him through tears.
“The man who took me.””
May you like
Then she whispered:
“He wasn't a stranger.””
