The Empty Room

The hospital ceiling swam above me in white streaks as they wheeled me back into the room. My body was trembling, it was numb in some places, and was burning in others. The nurses had wrapped me in warm blankets, had replaced my IV, had spoken softly, but I didn’t hear a word.

All I could hear was the echo of that engine.

All I could see was the taillight glow disappearing into the dark.

All I could feel was the emptiness of my arms.

“My babies,” I whispered into the air. My throat was raw and my lips were cracked. “My babies…”

The words fell uselessly, swallowed by the beeping of machines.

When the nurse gently laid me back against the pillows, I turned my head toward the bassinets. They were empty and still.

The ache in my chest grew unbearable. A scream rose up, but it broke into a sob halfway through.

“They’re gone,” I gasped. “He took them. He really… took them.”

The nurse looked at me with pity she tried to hide, while smoothing the blanket over me like I was a child. “You need to rest, Mrs. Smith.”

Rest.

How could I rest when my children were strapped into a car, driving further and further away from me?

I squeezed my eyes shut, tears were spilling hot against my temples. The memory of their tiny faces burned behind my eyelids; the way my daughter’s fist had curled, the way my son had breathed in a shuddery sigh. I hadn’t even kissed them goodbye.

My hands clawed weakly at the sheets.

“He can’t take them. He can’t do this to me.”

But he had.

Because Liam Smith always got what he wanted. And what he didn’t want... he destroyed.

A sharp knock rattled the door. My eyes snapped open.

“Mrs. Smith?” Vincent Miller stepped inside, his expression was unreadable as usual, a polished shadow against the white hospital walls.

He carried a small black bag tucked neatly under one arm.

I froze, my heart hammering in terror.

“Where are they?” My voice cracked. “Where are my babies?”

“They’re safe,” Vincent replied smoothly. Too smoothly. “Mr. Smith asked me to bring you these.”

He set the bag on the rolling table beside me. My shaking hands fumbled with the zipper. Inside lay a set of folded clothes (the faded clothes I had brought along after our wedding two years ago), my old phone, and... on top was an envelope.

My name was written across it in Liam’s handwriting.

The room seemed to tilt. I ripped it open, my pulse was pounding.

Inside:

–One check.

–One note, scrawled in his ruthless hand.

"Consider this settlement. Sign the papers. Stay away. After tonight, you will be walking away with just a single zero. Remember that."

The check was heavy with zeroes. Blood money. Hush money. A payment for ripping out my soul.

I crumpled it in my fist, my tears were burning hotter than the IV drip.

“Tell him I don’t want his money,” I choked out. “Tell him to give me back my children.”

Vincent’s face didn’t change. He simply adjusted his cufflinks. “That won’t be possible, Mrs. Smith.”

The finality in his voice sank like lead in my stomach.

“He's the devil. He must have been planning this divorce behind my back while I was breaking myself to give him healthy babies!” I ripped the IV out of my hand, shoved the blanket aside, and crawled out of the bed. “Tell that asshole I won't sit back and let him do this to me. I'm getting my babies back.”

Vincent didn't argue. He just.let out a sharp sigh, turned, and walked out.

I felt it. The truth was pressing in from every corner of the room, suffocating me.

Liam hadn’t just walked out with my babies. He had declared war.