"Tell me!"
She faltered.
"Mrs. Delacroix—"
"Don't fucking call me that!" I spat, my rage shaking me to my core.
A man in a white coat stepped in—the doctor. Clipboard in hand.
The nurse used the distraction to scurry off and out the door.
I turned sharply, my gaze locking onto a man in a white coat—mid-forties, salt-and-pepper hair, glasses perched on his nose.
He held a clipboard, his expression unreadable.
"Where…" My throat was raw, my voice barely a whisper. "Where is my baby?"
A pause. A heavy, suffocating pause.
The doctor's fingers tightened around the clipboard. "Mrs. Delacroix, I—"
"Where is my baby?! Please, I'm not crazy!" My voice cracked, desperation turning my words into something ugly, feral.
The doctor swallowed, glancing at the door like he wanted to escape, just like the nurse had done.
That was all the confirmation I needed.
A horrible, gut-wrenching realization slammed into me.
My baby was gone.
