After His Heart Transplant My Husband Forgot His Daughter Chapter 07
At seven the next morning, after giving his statement, Grady rushed back to the hospital.
He carried an expensive set of children’s art therapy supplies: pencil grips in different sizes, a mounted drawing board, and Elodie’s favorite brand of watercolors.
He had rehearsed his apology the whole way there.
But when he pushed open the door to Elodie’s room, it was empty. The bed was made. The cabinets stood open. Even the plastic water cup was gone.
“Where are my wife and daughter?”
The nurse at the station looked up at him.
“They were discharged last night.”
She handed him an envelope. Inside was a no-contact order from my lawyer. Pending a court ruling, he was forbidden from approaching, following, or privately contacting me or our daughter.
The art supplies slipped from his grasp and scattered across the floor.
His face drained of all color. He raced home, barely shutting the car door before sprinting into the building.
The keypad lock beeped open.
The shoe cabinet was empty.
My coat was gone from the rack. Our toothbrushes, towels, and shampoo were gone from the bathroom.
“Elodie?”
He shoved open one door after another, his voice shaking harder each time.
No one answered.
He shoved open one door after another, his voice shaking harder each time.
No one answered.
The living room was unnervingly clean, as if we had never lived there at all.
In the center of the coffee table sat a single object: the old tablet, its screen still lit.
Grady lunged for it.
The screen showed more than fifty recordings, each with the same title —
For Dad Before the Surgery.
He tapped the first one.
“For Dad Before the Surgery, Day 1.”
After a brief rustle of static, Elodie’s small voice filled the silence.
“Dad, did you leave your heart in that operating room… along with your love for me?”
Grady froze.
The heart in his chest kept beating, but he stood there, motionless.
He didn’t stop the recording.
He listened to every single one.