Chapter 3 The First Call
Chloe bit down on her thumb, fighting the urge to fall apart.
“Ma’am, are you alright?” Officer Samuel asked gently.
Chloe lowered her hand at once and nodded too quickly. “I’m fine.”
She was not fine.
But if she let herself cry now, she was afraid she would never stop.
“Alright,” Samuel said. “Let’s contact your family.”
Chloe nodded again.
“Do you have your ID with you?”
“Yes.” Her fingers trembled as she rummaged through her bag. She finally pulled out her state ID and handed it over.
Samuel took it, entered the number into the system, then looked back at her. His expression shifted slightly.
“Your ID has been revoked.”
Chloe stared at him blankly. “Revoked? What does that mean?”
Samuel’s voice stayed patient. “Usually, when a missing person has been gone for years, the family can apply for a legal declaration of death. Once that happens, the person’s identification documents are cancelled.”
For a second, Chloe forgot to breathe.
Declared dead.
Her throat tightened violently. She clenched her teeth, fighting back the tears burning behind her eyes.
“How…” Her voice shook. “How could someone declare me dead?”
“It’s a legal process,” Samuel said more softly. “If someone has been missing for seven years without any contact, the family can petition the court for a presumption of death. It doesn’t mean they stopped caring. It’s just procedure.”
Chloe sniffed hard and nodded.
Procedure.
What a cold word.
“Do you remember any phone numbers?” he asked.
“Yes. Yes, I remember a lot.” The words spilled out of her too fast. “Our home number. My dad’s mobile. My mum’s too. I know them by heart.”
Samuel dialed them one by one.
Disconnected.
Disconnected.
No longer in service.
Each dead tone stabbed straight through her chest.
Chloe gripped the edge of the table until her fingers went numb. Why were none of them working? How could none of them work?
Twenty-three years.
The number pressed against her skull like a fever.
Seeing the panic spreading across her face, Samuel gently cut in. “Forget your parents’ numbers for now. Try younger relatives. Or someone else close to you.”
Chloe swallowed.
Then, with sudden urgency, she lifted her head.
“My husband,” she said. “I remember my husband’s number.”
Hope flickered in her eyes for the first time since waking up.
She gave Samuel Nathan’s phone number from memory, every digit engraved so deeply in her mind she could have recited it in her sleep.
Samuel dialed.
Chloe stopped breathing.
One ring.
Her hands curled into fists.
Two rings.
Her shoulders began to shake.
Three.
Please answer.
Four.
Just as her heart plunged—
“Hello.”
A man’s voice came through the phone.
Low. Clear. Calm.
Chloe jerked upright so fast her chair scraped against the floor.
Tears spilled down her cheeks.
She stared at the phone in Samuel’s hand as though she could see straight through it.
Was that Nathan?
She had spoken to him for over an hour the night before. She knew his voice better than her own heartbeat.
And yet—
Twenty-three years was enough time to change anything.
Samuel straightened too, visibly relieved to have finally gotten through to someone. “Hello. May I ask if this is Nathan?”
“It is.”
That was all it took.
Chloe felt the air rush back into her lungs so suddenly it almost hurt.
It was him.
It was Nathan.
Samuel glanced at her and gave a small, encouraging nod before speaking into the phone again. “Hello, sir. This is Officer Samuel Whitaker with the Chicago Police Department. Your wife, Chloe, is currently at Northwestern Memorial Hospital. She needs you to come and pick her up.”
Silence.
A beat too long.
Then, from the other end, the man said, “What did you say?”
“Your wife, Chloe, is here at Northwestern Memorial Hospital,” Samuel repeated carefully. He briefly explained the situation, added that this was not a scam, gave the address, and asked him to come as soon as possible.
The man on the phone remained controlled. Quiet. Almost too quiet.
Then he said he would come immediately.
Samuel let out a breath and ended the call.
He looked up at Chloe with open relief. “Congratulations. You’re the first one tonight to reach family.”
“Thank you,” Chloe said at once.
Her voice broke on the words.
“Thank you so much.”
She stood up too quickly, bowed to him, then moved aside to give the seat to the next person.
By the door, she sank onto a chair and rubbed her legs hard with both hands, trying to stop the trembling.
She had found him.
Thank God.
Thank God.
All around her, the conference room remained heavy with grief.
No one else seemed to be having her luck.
Some passengers sat hunched in corners, weeping quietly. Others kept pressing the social workers for one more call, one more number, one more try. One middle-aged man suddenly lunged at the driver, cursing him for taking an unlicensed route and blaming him for all of it. The two men had to be pulled apart.
After the outburst, the man collapsed to the floor and began sobbing openly.
A moment later, the driver started crying too.
The entire room felt thick with fear and misery.
Chloe could barely stand it.
All she wanted now was to see Nathan.
She pushed open the conference room door and stepped into the hallway beside the lifts. Then she stood there, eyes fixed on the elevator doors, waiting.
Minutes passed.
Or maybe longer.
She had no idea.
At last, the elevator chimed.
The doors slid open.
A crowd spilled out first—doctors, nurses, a woman wheeling a cart, two people talking as they walked. And then, behind them, one man stepped out.
Tall.
Straight-backed.
Dressed in black.
Something in Chloe’s chest jolted.
He stood out instantly, even in a crowd.
Her eyes lit up. She leaned forward, trying to see his face, but people kept moving between them. All she caught was his profile—sharp, handsome, composed—and the dark line of a well-fitted suit.
He didn’t see her.
He walked straight past, brisk and certain, as if he already knew exactly where he was going.
Chloe turned and followed him.
At first, she only meant to look more closely.
Then, with every step, her heart beat faster.
He seemed familiar.
And not.
By the time he reached the conference room, Chloe had slowed without meaning to.
The man stopped in front of Officer Samuel.
“Hello,” he said. “I’m Nathan. You called me earlier. I’m here to pick up Chloe.”
Samuel looked up immediately. “Chloe.”
He pointed toward the doorway.
“She’s right behind you.”
The man drew his hands together for a moment, as though steadying himself.
Then he turned.
Chloe finally saw his face.
And froze.
This was Nathan.
But not the Nathan she knew.
The Nathan in her memory had never worn glasses. He had been all sunshine and youth—bright eyes, easy smiles, oversized hoodies, warmth spilling out of him without effort.
The man standing before her now wore a tailored suit and thin-framed glasses. His posture was straight, his expression composed, his entire presence cool and restrained.
The old Nathan had smiled with his whole face, open and alive.
This one kept his lips pressed together, his gaze unreadable behind the lenses.
The old Nathan had been fair and vivid, glowing with health and restless energy.
This one looked pale, controlled, and distant—as though time had filed away every soft edge and left only something polished, severe, and untouchable.
Chloe stopped where she was.
She could only stare at him helplessly.
The whole day had already felt like some grotesque dream.
But this—
This was the first moment it truly sank in.
She had found Nathan.
And he was a stranger.