The security logs weren’t broken — they were altered.
Camera feeds glitched at precisely the right moments, skipping just long enough for a body to vanish without a trace. Someone had severed her digital lifeline and guided her through a blind spot they had carefully engineered.
This wasn’t the work of chance.
It wasn’t panic.
It was precision.
Whoever did this understood hospital systems — the rhythms of night shifts, the vulnerabilities in monitoring devices, and how easily chaos can swallow a single missing heartbeat. They knew exactly how to hide in plain sight.
That night, I didn’t just lose my mother.
I uncovered something far more terrifying: a person can be erased with a few calculated keystrokes — their presence deleted, their absence buried — as if they had never existed at all.