Ryan's smile disappeared the moment he noticed the silence.

No television.

No crying baby.

No soft lullaby drifting from the nursery.

Only the slow ticking of the grandfather clock echoed through the house.

His suitcase slipped from his hand and crashed onto the hardwood floor.

"Emma?" he called.

No answer.

He hurried toward the nursery.

The crib was empty.

The tiny blue blanket lay neatly folded inside as though someone had carefully said goodbye.

His heart began pounding.

"Emma!"

Still nothing.

Then he noticed someone standing quietly in the dining room.

A woman in navy-blue scrubs.

The same doctor who had discharged Emma from the maternity ward ten days earlier.

Dr. Helen Brooks looked at him with tired eyes.

"You finally came home."

Ryan swallowed.

"Where's my wife? Where's my son?"

The doctor didn't answer immediately.

Instead, she handed him a thick medical folder.

"I begged your wife to stay in the hospital another day," she said softly.

"She insisted she had someone waiting for her."

Ryan frowned.

"I was waiting."

"No," the doctor replied.

"You were packing for your birthday vacation."

His face turned pale.

The doctor continued.

"Emma developed a severe postpartum infection. She was running a dangerous fever before you left."

Ryan stared blankly.

"She called you twenty-seven times."

"I... I didn't hear—"

"You blocked her calls after the first evening."

His knees nearly gave out.

Dr. Brooks' voice remained calm.

"Another neighbor found her unconscious beside the baby's crib."

Ryan's breathing became uneven.

"If they had arrived thirty minutes later..."

She paused.

"...Emma would have died."

Tears filled his eyes for the first time.

"Where is she now?"

"Somewhere she finally feels safe."