72: Negative Space
SERA
I hated hospitals. The sterile air, the too-bright lights, and the mechanical beeping that never stopped. It all set my nerves on edge. But right now, none of it mattered. The only thing I could focus on was the tiny body lying motionless behind that glass.
Rue.
She looked so small. Her sparkly pink dress had been replaced with a hospital gown two sizes too big, her curls flattened against the pillow. Her cheeks were pale.
I stood outside her room, my arms crossed tight over my chest. Killian stood next to me, as stiff as stone, his jaw clenched hard. No one had said anything in ten minutes. Not since they rushed her in.
"Ms. Cross?"
I turned quickly. Dr. Mendez was back. The look in her eyes told me this wasn't just a fainting spell.
"Rue's stable now," she said gently. "We've completed the first round of tests."
I didn't realize I'd been holding my breath until I felt my lungs burn.
"She has aplastic anemia," the doctor continued. "It's a rare disorder where the bone marrow fails to produce enough blood cells. That explains the fever, the weakness, and the collapse."
My stomach twisted.
"Is it curable?" Killian asked, his voice hoarse.
"It's treatable," Dr. Mendez replied. "She'll need a transfusion soon, and longer-term, we're looking at a possible bone marrow transplant."
I flinched. "Okay. Fine. So... who can donate?"
"We'll start with immediate family," she said. "Siblings, parents. Though..."
Her eyes rested on Killian. "Sir, you're still recovering from the sedative in your system. We can't risk any interference with your test results until the medication clears. We'll need to wait at least twelve more hours."
Killian cursed under his breath.
"Would you like to be tested?" Dr. Mendez asked, turning to me.
I didn't hesitate. "Yes. Do it now."
....
I barely felt the needle go in. I barely registered anything except the tightness in my chest and the racing of my pulse as they drew the sample.
Twenty minutes later, I was sitting by Rue's bedside, brushing her curls back from her sweaty forehead with trembling fingers.
She was so warm.
I hated how fragile she looked.
"Hey, baby girl," I whispered, not expecting a response. "You're okay. You're going to be okay."
I looked up as Killian appeared by the doorway. His suit jacket was wrinkled, his shirt untucked, and his curls were disheveled. He resembled a man who'd been dragged through hell and was still halfway down.
"She's still asleep," I whispered softly.
He stepped in, his eyes fixed on Rue.
"Come sit," I said, patting the bed gently beside me.
He didn't move for a moment. Then, finally, he crossed the room and sat on the edge. His fingers found Rue's hand.
"I should've known something was wrong," he muttered. "She said she was tired yesterday. I was...preoccupied..."
"She's a kid. That's how it goes," I said softly. "You couldn't have known."
His jaw twitched, but he didn't answer. He looked like he was cracking and barely holding it together for her.
And for some reason, all I could think was... how much we looked like a family at the moment.
Me. Him. Her.
It felt normal.
There was a knock at the door.
A nurse stepped in, holding a clipboard. "Ms. Cross?"
I stood immediately. "Yeah?"
She smiled faintly. "The results are in. You're a full HLA match."
My throat constricted.
"I'm a match?" I asked, blinking.
"Perfect match. Very rare." She gave me a strange look. "Are you sure you're not related?"
I froze.
Killian's head turned sharply toward me.
I responded slowly. "We're not related."
The nurse blinked. "Well... this kind of compatibility usually only happens between parents, siblings, or very close blood relatives."
She handed me the consent forms and left before I could even think of another question.
I turned slowly, my heart pounding in my chest.
Killian was staring at me strangely, but he said nothing.
I had a feeling that there was a strong reason for that uncanny result.
The nurse had barely left when I sat back down next to Rue, the paperwork still trembling in my hands.
Killian didn't say anything at first. He just kept looking at me with that same bewildered expression.
"I don't know," I finally said, staring at the monitors beside Rue's bed. "Whatever that was, I don't know."
Killian didn't move. His hand was still wrapped around Rue's, his thumb brushing lightly over her knuckles. "You don't have to explain, Sera."
I gulped.
"She loves you, you know," he added, his eyes still on Rue.
"I love her too," I whispered before I could think about it.
He turned then, looking at me fully. His eyes were tired but soft.
"You were the only one she let hold her before she collapsed." His voice was raw. "She looked for you."
I swallowed hard. "She's just a kid, Killian. She shouldn't have to look for anyone. We're the ones who should've been watching her."
The weight of those words hit both of us, hard.
...
The door jerked open the next morning. My body tensed immediately. Killian and I watched her walk in.
Arabella. She looked perfect as always. Her lips were glossed, her lashes curled. And there was not a single hair out of place.
Her expression didn't even shift when she saw Rue hooked up to machines. There was no panic or guilt. Only mild curiosity.
"Oh," she said vaguely. "They said she fainted or something?"
My mouth dropped open.
Killian stood, visibly restraining himself.
But I didn't.
"You're kidding me, right?" I snapped, moving towards her. "Fainted? That's your take? Your daughter is in a hospital bed, and you show up several hours late wearing Chanel and chewing gum as if you just walked out of a catalog?"
Her eyes landed on me, unimpressed. "It's Dior."
"Oh, I don't care," I bit out.
Arabella raised a brow and set her purse on the nearby chair. "Is this really necessary?"
I stared at her, stunned. "Are you joking?"
Killian gently touched my arm to calm me down, but I was legit pissed.
"She was burning up. She passed out in my arms. You weren't there. You never are. And now you walk in as if this is some minor inconvenience and I'm the one being dramatic?"
"I didn't ask you to play mother," Arabella said flatly.
That did it.
"You abandoned her," I hissed.
We locked eyes for one charged second, and then a soft voice cut through the tension.
"Is she awake yet?"
I turned.
Rafael stood at the doorway, a little hunched, one arm in a sling, a bandage still wrapped around his head. He had a healing split lip, and his black eye looked a little better.
Arabella huffed. "Oh great. The babysitter's here."
Rafael didn't even glance at her.
He walked past her as if she didn't exist, heading straight for Rue's bedside with a soft expression on his battered face.
"I brought her that book she likes," he murmured, pulling a worn children's novel from the bag slung over his good arm. "The one with the talking tiger."
Killian stepped aside.
I did too.
Rafael sat carefully in the chair beside Rue's bed and brushed his fingers gently over her hand. "Hey, little sunshine. I heard you scared everyone. You're not supposed to do that, remember?"
My chest ached.
Arabella rolled her eyes and muttered something about needing coffee. But no one answered her.
A little while later, Rue was wheeled out for more tests.
"Fifteen minutes," the nurse had said. "You can wait in the family room."
Killian insisted on walking with her to the doors of the diagnostics wing. I watched him disappear behind the sliding glass panels, his hands clenched.
He came back ten minutes later and sat beside me, his shoulder brushing mine.
We didn't talk much.
There wasn't much to say when you were waiting to find out what was wrong with a child who barely weighed thirty pounds and had a fever that made her cheeks glow like embers. I kept checking the clock, crossing and uncrossing my arms. Rafael was pacing. Arabella was still glued to her phone.
The wait stretched longer than it should have.
Twenty-five minutes. Then thirty.
Something itched at the back of my neck.
At thirty-five minutes, I stood.
"Where the hell are they?"
Killian straightened too. "I'll go check."
We followed the hall back to diagnostics, tension climbing with every step. The nurse station was empty at first, until a young intern with frizzy curls and tired eyes popped her head up from behind a desk.
"Hi, excuse me," I said, forcing calm into my voice. "My daughter, Rue Cross, was brought in for scans a while ago. She hasn't been brought back yet."
The intern blinked. "Room three," she said, flipping through the chart. "The pediatric tech brought her in about forty minutes ago."
Killian frowned. "We were told fifteen."
"I'll ask the nurse on duty." She picked up the phone.
There was a long pause. Then, her brows furrowed.
"I'm sorry, Dr. Lin says the tech never brought her in."
I stared.
"What?"
"She's not in the scan room. They said, the patient never arrived."
"No, no, no," I said, stepping back. "I saw her. We all did. She left this wing with a nurse. A woman in navy scrubs. Curly hair. Tan skin. Her tag said 'Morgan.'"
The intern looked pale now. "We don't have a Morgan scheduled today."
My blood ran cold.
Killian swore under his breath, and Rafael’s eyes blazed with anger.
And I just stood there, staring at the empty hallway beyond the nurse's station.
Rue was gone.
Someone had taken her from inside the goddamn hospital. And we'd let them.
My phone vibrated in my coat pocket, startling me.
I swiped the message open. It was a photo of Rue, sleeping in a bed that wasn't hers.
My mouth went dry.