Chapter 57 Emptiness

• The hospital room was too quiet and unnaturally quiet. Not just silent, but empty in a way that made Leo’s chest tighten. He stepped through the door, holding a bouquet of pink peonies her favorite and stopped in his tracks. The bed was bare. No sheets, no pillows. The machines were gone too. Even the soft beeping he’d grown used to was missing. The room looked spotless, like no one had ever stayed there. Like she had never existed in that space at all. A heavy, cold feeling settled in his stomach, something he knew too well. Dread. Why hadn’t anyone told him she was being moved?
• Leo ran to the nurses' station, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. “Zara ,” he gasped, his voice tight with panic. “Where is she?”
• The nurse, a kind-faced woman who had seen him pacing the halls for months, gave him a sad look.