I stopped walking. The sounds of the hospital lobby—the paging system, the sliding doors—faded into a dull roar. “What do you mean, is she with me? I’m at work, Hannah. I dropped her off at Mom’s this morning.”

Well, she’s not here,” Hannah said. “I haven’t seen her all day, actually.”

My phone slipped from my sweaty palm and clattered onto the linoleum. I scrambled to pick it up, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

Hannah,” I snarled, my voice unrecognizable to my own ears. “Put Mom on the phone. Now.”

Mom’s not here. She went to her book club.”

Where. Is. My. Daughter?”

I don’t know!” Hannah’s facade cracked, revealing the panic underneath. “I got home from work, and Mom said Olivia left hours ago.”

Left? She’s eight years old! She doesn’t ‘leave’!”

Look, I’m sure she walked to a friend’s house or—”

I hung up. I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I went cold. A deadly, focused cold. I dialed 911 as I ran to my car.

Emergency services, what is your emergency?”