Chapter 5 - The Silent House
Derek stood in the center of the silent kitchen for nearly five minutes, holding the slip of paper between two fingers as if it were a legal summons.
"Clara?" he called out again, his voice echoing off the high ceilings of the open-concept living room.
No answer.
He walked down the hallway to the master bedroom. The bed was neatly made, the heavy duvet pulled smooth. The closet door was half-open.
He walked over and pulled the closet door wide.
Her clothes were still there—her winter coats, her maternity dresses, her shoes arranged in neat rows along the floor. Her vanity table in the bathroom still held her creams, her hairbrush, and her perfume bottles.
She hadn't packed a suitcase. She hadn't taken her wardrobe. She had taken only the small canvas hospital bag she had packed two weeks ago.
He walked back to the kitchen, his mind racing through possibilities.
She went to another hospital in Columbus. St. Ann's. Mount Carmel. Ohio State.
He pulled out his phone and dialed the main desk at Mount Carmel St. Ann’s.
"Admitting," a voice answered.
"Yes, I'm calling to verify if my wife, Clara Vance, was admitted to labor and delivery this morning," Derek said, forcing his voice into a calm, authoritative register.
"One moment... No, sir, no record of a Clara Vance."
He hung up and called Ohio State Wexner Medical Center.
Same answer.
He called Doctors Hospital.
Same answer.
By 3:00 p.m., he had called every major hospital, urgent care center, and maternity clinic within a forty-mile radius of Columbus. None of them had any record of Clara.
He sat down on the leather stool at the kitchen island, staring at the diamond ring resting on the dark stone.
"She's dramatic," he muttered aloud to the empty room. "She's throwing a scene because I went to the dinner. She went to a hotel. That's what this is. A hotel."
He opened his banking app on his phone to check our joint credit card activity.
He tapped on the RECENT TRANSACTIONS tab.
09/12 — Kroger #412 — $42.18 09/11 — Shell Oil Columbus — $35.00 09/10 — CVS Pharmacy — $18.42
There were no new pending charges. No hotel bookings. No Uber rides. No car rental entries.
He checked our joint checking account. The balance remained unchanged at $14,250.00. She hadn't withdrawn a single dollar before leaving.
He checked her private savings account—an account she had opened before they met, which held a modest balance from her previous job as a high school English teacher.
The balance was untouched.
She hadn't taken his money. She hadn't used his credit cards. She had walked out of the house with fifteen dollars in cash and a hospital bag.
A deep, unfamiliar knot of anger and panic tightened in Derek’s chest.
He dialed his uncle, Arthur Vance.
"Arthur," Derek said the moment the call connected.
"Derek? Everything alright at the hospital? How is Clara?"
"She isn't at the hospital," Derek said, his breath coming faster now. "She's... she vanished."
A long silence followed on the line.
"What do you mean, 'vanished'?" Arthur asked, his tone instantly shifting from warm to sharp.
"She didn't go to Riverside," Derek said. "She left her ring on the kitchen counter. Her phone is turned off. None of the local hospitals have her."
"Did you two have an argument this morning?" Arthur demanded.
"No!" Derek lied instantly. "She was fine! I gave her cab fare because of the Vance dinner, and when I got home, she was gone!"
"Derek," Arthur’s voice dropped into a cold, dangerous register. "If your wife is nine months pregnant, in active labor, and missing, you need to call the police immediately. If the media or the firm gets wind that your pregnant wife disappeared while you were at a partner dinner, the optics will destroy you."
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"The police?" Derek stammered. "Arthur, if I call the police, it becomes a public record. The local news—"
"Call them now, Derek," Arthur cut in sharply. "Before someone else does."
