“He has the forged custody papers, Evelyn,” Sloane said, looking up at me with a grim expression.

“He has a police escort waiting because he claimed you were unstable and refusing to let him see his child.”

Just then, the phone on the desk between us lit up.

The screen flashed with a call from the private maternity ward.

I swiped my thumb across the glass screen and pressed the phone to my ear.

“Evelyn Hartwell,” I said.

My voice was too quiet, even to my own ears.

“Evelyn, it’s Dr. Vance,” the administrator’s voice came through, thin and sharp.

“There is a man here in the lobby,” she said.

“He has two uniform officers with him.”

“He has papers signed by a judge granting him temporary emergency custody of Maisie.”

I tightened my grip on the edge of the desk until my knuckles turned white.

“Is my daughter still in her room?” I asked.

“She is,” Dr. Vance said. “We have the wing locked down under our standard safety protocol.”

“But the officers are demanding entry.”

“They are threating to arrest our security staff for obstruction.”