HIS FORSAKEN WIFE HIS GREATEST REGRET

Ten Minutes Too Late

Connor was almost smiling, holding Ziva's iPad when he pushed open the door.

"I found it," he called out. "Ziva, I found your—"

Her bed was empty.

A nurse was tucking the corner of the sheet.

Connor stood in the doorway.

"Where is she?"

The nurse glanced up. "Dr. Sammy discharged her about ten minutes ago. A cab took her home," the nurse added, turning back to the sheet.

Connor felt the floor drop.

"A cab?" His voice was very quiet. "She left in a cab." Then his voice rose. "She's post-operative. She had a hypotensive episode yesterday. She needs monitoring. She needs—"

"I just do what I'm told," the nurse said quietly.

Connor was already moving.

***

He didn't knock.

Sammy's office door swung open hard enough to hit the wall behind it. Sammy was at his desk, reading something on his screen. He looked up slowly.

"I see you've lost your mind," he said.

"You discharged her." Connor stepped inside and closed the door behind him. "You put a seven-year-old in a cab alone."

"Her father requested—"

"She had tachycardia on the table. Her marrow extraction volume exceeded the safe paediatric threshold." Connor's voice was level, but his hands weren't. "She needs to be monitored for graft-site infection, for hypovolemic complications, for post-anaesthetic response — she needs a doctor within reach, not a cab driver—"

"Her father wanted her home."

"Her father doesn't know what happened on that table."

Sammy leaned back in his chair. "Her father paid for a procedure. The procedure is complete. Nolan Riggs is recovering well. Our obligation—"

"Our obligation is to our patient. Ziva is also our patient."

"Was." Sammy picked up his pen. "She's been discharged."

The word sat in the room like something dropped.

Connor stared at him. "Give me her father's address. It would have been on the intake form."

"No."

"Sammy—"

"You'll go there and make a scene and drag this hospital into a situation that does not need to become complicated." He clicked his pen. "The answer is no."

"She could deteriorate at home. Without intervention, she could—"

"Then that will be a personal tragedy." Sammy's voice didn't change. "And it will have nothing to do with this hospital, this procedure, or this conversation."

Connor looked at him for a long moment.

"You know what you are," he said quietly.

Sammy's pen stopped clicking.

"You're a talented surgeon," Connor said. "That's what makes it worse. You know exactly what you did, and you did it anyway because the envelope was thick enough." He set the iPad on the edge of the desk. Then, I picked it up again. "I want the address."

"You're fired." Sammy said it pleasantly. "Effective immediately. Security will—"

"I quit." The words came out clean, like something that had been waiting. "You don't need to fire me. I quit." Connor picked up the iPad and held it against his side. "And if anything happens to that little girl — a fever, a complication, anything — I will make sure every person who matters knows exactly what was done to her. I will tell them about the volumes. I will tell them that you looked at a child's falling blood pressure and called it an acceptable range because her father's money was already in your pocket."

Sammy's face had gone still.

"You have no proof," he said.

"I have my testimony."

"The testimony of a dismissed junior doctor with a grudge."

"Pray nothing happens to her," Connor said. "That's all I'll say. Pray."

He turned and walked out.

***

His locker was on the second floor. He changed out of his scrubs.

He sat on the bench and held the iPad in both hands.

He put the iPad carefully in his backpack. Zipped it closed.

He needed to find Ziva.

He stood up, shouldered the bag, and walked out of the hospital without looking back.

***

Roberta's POV

The road kept blurring.

I blinked it back into focus. Blinked again. My eyes were doing that now — filling without warning, not from any new pain but from the accumulated weight of three days without sleep, without food, without my daughter's voice.

Jace's text was still on my phone.

*Surgery successful. Nolan will make a full recovery.*

What the hell do I care about Nolan?

I had read it several times, looking for Ziva's name. I am looking for one word that said that my daughter had gone through surgery and came out of it successfully.

Nothing.

I pressed the accelerator harder.

You sent me one text in three days, and it was about Nolan. It wasn't even—you didn't even—

I called Millie last night. Millie, who was always there, always answering, always the first voice that made things feel survivable.

*I'm so sorry, Roberta. I'm travelling for business. I'll be back as soon as I can.*

So I was alone. I had been alone since the car pulled away with Ziva's face in the window, and I had spent three days alone in a house that smelled like her.

Today, something snapped inside of me.

I was going to Irene's house.

I hadn't been here in five years. Irene stopped inviting me after the second year of my marriage. At first, I didn't understand why.

Now I know why. Nolan was being raised and hidden away from me by Jace's mother.

I got out of the car. My legs were weak. I hadn't eaten in three days. I hadn't slept. I hadn't stopped crying long enough to remember what my face looked like without tears.

I banged on the gate.

"Irene! Jace! Ziva!"

My voice cracked. I didn't care.

A small door in the gate opened. A security guard stepped out. An older man with kind tired eyes.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry, but I can't let you in."

"Where is my daughter? She's inside. I know she's inside."

"Mrs. Riggs—"

"Irene, please. I just want my baby."

The guard shifted his weight. His voice was low and apologetic.

"Mrs. Irene said if I let you in, I would lose my job. I've worked here for twenty-seven years. Please. She's not even home right now. She'll be back soon. If she sees you here—"

"So I'll wait."

"Ma'am—"

"I'll wait." I stepped back. Got back in my car and closed the door.

The guard hesitated. Then he stepped back through the small door. Closed it.

I sat in the driver's seat. The sun was high. Hot. My head ached.

I rested my forehead on the steering wheel.

God, please. My baby. Please let her be okay. Please let her be alive. I'll do anything. I'll leave Jace. I'll disappear. Just give me my daughter.

The tears came. Empty tears. I had nothing left.

My phone rang.

Unknown number.

I almost didn't answer. But something in my chest told me to, so I picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Mommy?"

I gasped. My hand flew to my heart. It was beating so hard that I thought it would break through my ribs.

"Ziva? Ziva, baby, is that you?"

"Yes, Mommy."

"Where are you? Which hospital? I'm coming right now. Tell me where—"

"I'm home, Mommy. Daddy put me in a cab. I'm at home. I used the cab driver's phone to call you."

He put you in a cab.

The words didn't make sense.

"He put you in a cab?" My voice rose. "Is he insane? Oh my God! Baby... are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"Come fast, Mommy."

"I'm on my way. Stay there. Don't move. I'm coming."

The cab driver said something in the background. Ziva's voice came back.

"Mommy, I have to go. Please come."

"Baby—"

The line went dead.

I threw the phone on the passenger seat. Started the car. Reversed so fast, the tires screeched.

The security guard came to the small door. Watching.

I didn't look at him.

I drove.

The gate shrank in my rearview mirror.

He put her in a cab.

My hands were shaking on the wheel.

He put her in a cab and sent her home alone after she gave her bone marrow to save his son.

I pressed the accelerator harder.

The road blurred.

I'm coming, baby. Mommy's coming.