The call came at 2:03 a.m.
My phone lit up the darkness of the room, vibrating against the nightstand as if afraid of being ignored. Unknown number. I was about to let it ring, but I felt a knot in my stomach before I even picked it up.
"Are you... Margaret Ellis?" asked a young, trembling, and hurried voice.
-Yeah.
—I'm Nurse Caldwell from the Riverside County Emergency Department. We have an 8-year-old girl, Olivia Carter. She says you're her grandmother.
My breath caught in my throat. Olivia. My granddaughter. Adopted by my son, Daniel, when she was three years old.
"What happened?" I asked.
—She has a fever of 40 degrees Celsius. Severe dehydration. We believe treatment was delayed. Emergency services brought her from a hotel shuttle bus stop.
A hotel.
My thoughts immediately turned to Daniel.
He had left three days earlier with his wife, Rachel, and their biological son, Ethan, on a luxury cruise departing from Miami. I remembered the photos Rachel had posted: champagne glasses, ocean views, matching cruise outfits.
Not a single mention of Olivia.
I was already grabbing the keys before the nurse had even finished.
"I'm going there," I said.
The flight I had booked was leaving in a few hours, but I couldn't stay still. One thought kept repeating itself: Who abandons a sick child like that? Who abandons a child?
By the time I landed in Florida, I had already called three times. Daniel didn't answer. Neither did Rachel. Straight to voicemail, as if my concern was nothing more than a nuisance.
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