This time, I wasn’t waiting for anyone.
For four months, I had waited—for the police to call, for strangers to recognize her photograph, for someone else to uncover the clue that would bring my mother home. Waiting had given me nothing but sleepless nights and unanswered questions.
I slipped the plastic bag into my pocket and headed for the door.
This time, I wasn’t waiting for anyone.
I reached the hospital in twelve minutes and ran from the parking lot with my mother’s ring clenched inside my fist.
At reception, a woman in blue scrubs looked up as I approached.
The receptionist studied the photograph.
“I’m searching for my mother.” I pulled a folded missing-person poster from my bag and flattened it on the desk. “Her name is Evelyn. She disappeared four months ago.”
The receptionist studied the photograph. “I’m sorry, but I can’t give out information about our patients.”
“Please.” I opened the plastic bag and showed her the ring. “She was wearing this when she vanished. Last night, two people dropped it at the restaurant where I work, and they came here afterward.”
The receptionist’s expression changed. She examined the poster again, then began typing.
Several agonizing seconds passed.
“What did the couple look like?”
I described them while she searched. Several agonizing seconds passed.
“We don’t have anyone registered under Evelyn,” she finally said.
Hope collapsed inside me.
Then she frowned at the screen. “Wait.”
Her fingers moved across the keyboard again.
My heart began pounding.
“An unidentified woman was admitted several weeks ago. She was brought in confused and unable to remember her name. She was transferred to our neurological unit for evaluation.”
My heart began pounding. “Does she look like the woman in that picture?”
“I can’t confirm that from here.” Her voice softened. “But the age and description are close.”
“That’s her. It has to be.”
The receptionist hesitated. “The patient suffered a seizure yesterday. She’s stable, but she isn’t in good condition to receive visitors.”
“She already has two people with her.”
“I’m her daughter.”
“She already has two people with her.”
The couple.
Every terrible possibility struck me at once. They had taken my mother’s ring. Perhaps they had followed her here. Perhaps they were beside her bed right now, frightening her or pressuring her to reveal something she could no longer remember.
“You don’t understand,” I said. “Those people may have hurt her.”
I couldn’t finish.
The receptionist glanced toward the security desk.
“Please,” I begged, lowering my voice. “Just let me see her. If she isn’t my mother, I’ll leave. But if she is…”
I couldn’t finish.
After a long moment, the receptionist picked up the phone and spoke quietly to someone upstairs. Then she printed a visitor badge and slid it toward me.
“Third floor. Room 318. A nurse will meet you there.”
“She may not recognize you.”
I grabbed the badge.
