Page 114 of This Love
My feet hurt, and the pain came back, worse than before. My chest joined in, cold and clammy and aching as I moved.
A baby. A baby. A baby.
Eventually, the bright building became visible. As I dashed toward it, I spotted something that set off alarm bells in my head. I ignored it, but it kept happening, again and again.
I finally stopped to look.
It was me. My picture. It was on every pole, every metal box. I turned in a circle. On windows. Walls. Me, my picture, my name.
I reached for one and pulled it down.
Ava Roberts. Ava Giddings. Missing. Please call this number to contact husband Tucker Giddings or father Marcus Roberts.
Some photos were of me and the man from my bag. The one where our foreheads touch. The others were me with the gray-haired man. Some were just me. Smiling. Serious.
But they all said the same thing.
Ava Roberts. Ava Giddings. Missing.
Both of those names were me. I was Ava Roberts because my father was Marcus Roberts. I became Ava Giddings to match Tucker Giddings. I married the man from the notebook. We had a baby.
I clutched the paper as I ran hard. The pain was terrible, but I kept going.
I approached the big sliding door where I’d left.
It didn’t open.
I pressed my hands to the glass. A sign read, “Enter through Emergency.”
What did that mean? How could I enter through an emergency?
The pain was incredible. I clutched my bag to my belly, crumpling the paper. I needed inside. The lights were on. Why had they closed the doors?
Then I heard a voice. “Ava? Ava Giddings?”
I turned. A man in dark blue shone a flashlight my way.
“Yes,” I said. “I’m Ava Giddings.”
He stood halfway out of an open door farther down. He looked inside the building. “I’ve got her!”
I tried to step toward him, but everything hurt too much. I leaned against the wall, hanging on to the bag.
“Bring a wheelchair!” the man called. “Hold on, Ava. We’ll get you some help.” He rushed toward me and placed an arm around my waist to hold me up. “Are you okay?”
My vision wavered from the pain, but I said, “Where is Tucker? Where is the baby?”
“Your family is here. They’re in your room.”
“They’re here?”
“Yes. We’ve been looking for you all day.”
Soon, I was surrounded by people. A woman in pink rolled out a wheelchair. The first man helped me into it, setting the bag in my lap.
Two more people in uniform came over. We squeezed through the small door to the elevator I took when I ran.
I was going back!
