She dropped the receiver, letting it dangle by its cord.

“Where is my son?” I asked, my voice cracking.

The nurse pushed open the heavy double doors of the nursery.

Her rubber-soled shoes squeaked against the polished linoleum floor.

“Mrs. Parker,” she said, her voice shaking. “We had an incident.”

My father stepped in front of me, his posture stiffening into his military bearing.

“What kind of incident?” he demanded.

“A woman tried to gain access to the floor,” the nurse said, looking down at the linoleum. “She claimed she was the baby’s aunt.”

“Courtney,” I whispered.

My stomach twisted into a hard, cold knot.

“She didn’t have the proper security band,” the nurse continued. “When we stopped her, she became combative.”

“Where is Owen now?” my father asked, his voice low and dangerous.

“He is safe,” she said quickly, pointing toward a heavy metal door at the back of the nursery. “We moved him to the secure ward immediately.”

“I want to see him,” I said.

My legs felt like lead, but the panic gave me a sudden surge of energy.