Another nurse crouched near Micah. “Hey there, sweetheart, do you want to stay with your dad while we help your sister?”

Micah grabbed Rowan’s pant leg and nodded without speaking.

Rowan knelt, even as orderlies wheeled Elsie away. “They’re taking care of her. I’m not going anywhere.”

Micah’s eyes filled. “She’s gonna be okay, right?”

Rowan had never made a promise with less certainty and more need behind it. “Yes. She’s going to be okay.”

While doctors worked on Elsie, Rowan gave the registration desk every piece of information he had, then repeated the same story again for a hospital social worker and then for another staff member from pediatric intake. He explained the custody arrangement, Delaney’s message about being away with friends, the unanswered calls, the empty house, the fact that Micah had said this was not the first time she had left them alone, only the first time it had gone on this long.

The social worker, a composed woman with silver glasses and a notepad balanced on her knee, asked, “Do you know where the children’s mother is right now?”

“No,” Rowan said flatly. “I haven’t known since Friday.”

“Are you prepared to take temporary full responsibility while we document this?”

“I’m prepared to do whatever keeps them safe.”

The doctor returned after what felt like a lifetime packed into forty minutes. Elsie had an IV in her arm and color beginning to creep back into her face.

“She’s stable,” the doctor said. “She’s severely dehydrated and has a stomach infection that became much harder on her because she hadn’t been eating properly. We’re keeping her for observation, but you got her here in time.”

Rowan closed his eyes for one second and let out a breath he had not realized he was holding.

Micah looked up at him immediately. “Can I see her?”

The doctor smiled gently. “Soon. She’s resting now, but she’s in good hands.”

Rowan put his hand on the back of his son’s neck and realized Micah was still trembling.

What Happened To Delaney

Two hours later, after Micah had finally eaten crackers, applesauce, and half a turkey sandwich with the stunned concentration of a child remembering hunger, a nurse approached Rowan with a different kind of careful expression.

“Mr. Mercer, another hospital contacted us after we requested information for family notification. Your former partner was admitted to Nashville General very early Saturday morning after a serious car accident.”

Rowan stared at her. “An accident?”

“She came in without identification. She was unconscious and with an adult male who left the scene before staff could get full information. She’s stable now, but she had a head injury and multiple fractures. She’s been sedated.”

Rowan leaned back in his chair and scrubbed a hand over his face. Anger rose first, hot and immediate, because the children had been abandoned. Then, beneath it, came something messier and more reluctant, because Delaney had clearly not walked away from that house expecting to disappear for days. But whatever sympathy existed did not erase what had happened.

He stepped into the hallway and called his attorney, Avery Kline.

“Avery, I need emergency action on custody,” Rowan said the moment she picked up. “The kids were left alone for days. My daughter is in the hospital. Social services are already involved.”

Avery did not waste time. “Send me every report you get. We’ll file first thing in the morning.”

When Rowan returned to Elsie’s room, Micah was sitting beside the bed in a chair too large for him, watching his sister sleep with the grave, exhausted attention of someone who felt responsible for keeping the world from collapsing again.

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