“No one gets on this wing without my authorization.”

An hour passed in quiet anticipation.

I watched the clouds drift past the window, the blue sky offering a strange contrast to the storm in my life.

The nurse brought me a small tray of chicken broth and crackers.

I forced myself to eat, knowing I needed to regain my physical strength.

Around noon, my father’s cell phone buzzed on the bedside table.

He picked it up quickly, his eyes narrowing as he read the screen.

“It’s Harris,” he said, stepping out into the hallway to take the call.

I sat up, my heart rate spiking slightly on the monitor.

Through the glass window of my hospital room, I watched my father pace the corridor.

His face was grim, his eyebrows knitted together.

He spoke in short, sharp sentences, nodding occasionally.

When he walked back into the room, he slid the phone into his pocket.

“They got them,” he said.

“Both of them?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. “The police picked up Patricia and Courtney at the house.”

“They were apparently packing bags when the officers arrived.”