He thought I was heading to the local hospital down the street, but my sister was waiting at the end of the block to smuggle me two hundred miles away.

In Columbus, Ohio, at 1:15 p.m., the sun was shining brightly over the downtown financial district.

Derek Vance stepped out of the private dining room at Hyde Park Prime Steakhouse, shaking the hand of Arthur Vance, the managing partner of Vance, Holbrook & Myers.

"Exceptional presentation, Derek," Arthur said, patting Derek’s shoulder with a heavy, gold-ringed hand. "The client was thoroughly impressed with your restructuring proposal. We’ll finalize the retainer agreements on Monday."

"Thank you, Arthur," Derek said, offering his practiced, winning smile. "I told you we’d secure the account."

"Now, go take care of your wife," Arthur added with a paternal chuckle. "A baby girl, wasn't it?"

"Yes," Derek lied smoothly. "I'm heading straight to Riverside now. She was checked in early this morning."

"Good man. Take the rest of the afternoon off."

Derek walked out to the parking garage, his mood buoyant. The Vance account was worth three hundred thousand dollars in annual billings. His equity partnership was practically guaranteed by the end of the fiscal quarter.

He climbed into his Audi, synced his phone to the dashboard console, and checked his call log.

Fourteen outgoing calls to Clara. Zero incoming.

His smile vanished, replaced by a dark, familiar irritation.

"Unbelievable," he muttered to himself, backing the car out of the space. "She's playing games because I didn't hold her hand during intake."

He drove the six miles to Riverside Methodist Hospital on Olentangy River Road, parked in the physician/attending lot, and walked through the main glass doors of the Women's Center.

He walked up to the central reception desk, where an elderly volunteer in a pink smock was sorting through patient charts.

"Derek Vance," he said, leaning over the counter. "My wife, Clara Vance, was admitted this morning for labor and delivery."

The volunteer typed the name into her computer terminal. She adjusted her reading glasses, scrolled down the screen, and frowned.

"Vance... V-A-N-C-E?" she asked.

"Yes. Clara Vance."

"I'm sorry, sir. We don't have a patient by that name checked in today."

Derek’s brow furrowed. "That's impossible. She left our house at five-thirty this morning in labor. Check the emergency triage logs."

The volunteer clicked through three different screens. "No Clara Vance in triage. No Clara Vance in observation. We have a Clara Vance registered for a routine prenatal appointment next Thursday, but she hasn't been admitted."

"Check again!" Derek’s voice rose, sharp and demanding. Two nurses at a nearby station turned to look at him. "She was in active labor! She was five minutes apart!"

"Sir, there is no need to raise your voice," a supervisor said, stepping up to the desk. "If she isn't in the system, she isn't in this hospital. Have you tried calling her personal phone?"

Derek pulled out his phone, dialed Clara’s number, and held it to his ear.

"The cellular subscriber you are trying to reach is turned off or not in a service area. Please try again later."

He hung up, his pulse suddenly hammering against his throat. A strange, unfamiliar coldness began to spread in the pit of his stomach.

He turned around and walked briskly out of the building, his shoes clicking loudly against the marble floor.

He drove back to Willow Creek Lane in eleven minutes, running two yellow lights along the way.

He pulled into the driveway, threw the Audi into park, and marched up the front steps.

"Clara!" he shouted, throwing the front door wide open. "Clara, this isn't funny! Where are you?"

The house was completely silent.

The morning light streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the living room, illuminating the quiet, dust-free space. Everything was exactly as he had left it at five-thirty that morning.

He walked into the kitchen.

The coffee maker was still set to keep warm. His empty espresso cup sat beside the sink.

And on the dark granite island, right in the center of the polished surface, sat the platinum three-carat diamond ring.

Beside it lay a small piece of lined paper tore from a notepad.

Derek walked slowly toward the island. His hand trembled slightly as he reached out and picked up the paper.