My phone screen lit up one more time on the table behind me.

A single notification popped up.

It was an image message from Leo’s number, but the preview image was completely dark.

I stared at it, my hand still holding the nurse’s wrist.

The silence in the room was absolute.

Then, the baby started to cry.

I squeezed her wrist tighter, ignoring the pain in my own fingers.

“Call the deputy,” I said, my voice shaking but loud. “Call him in here right now.”

The nurse opened her mouth to shout, but the door swung open before she could.

It wasn’t Leo.

Dr. Chen, the chief of pediatrics, walked into the room holding a clipboard.

“Stop,” Dr. Chen said, looking directly at the nurse.

The nurse lowered the syringe immediately.

“Mrs. Sullivan’s rapid toxicology screen just came back from the lab,” Dr. Chen said.

He looked at me with a quiet, apologetic nod.

“It is completely negative for all substances.”

The nurse stepped back from the crib, her face flushing red.

“The deputy is stepping down,” Dr. Chen added, turning to the hallway. “There was a miscommunication regarding the orders from Dr. Albright’s office.”