I drove through Chicago with my heart pounding, desperately trying to reach David while Mia’s frightened words echoed in my mind. Every unanswered call increased my fear, especially because I couldn’t understand why my daughter had mentioned drinking water from the toilet or why her baby brothers wouldn’t wake up.

When I reached David’s luxury apartment building, I hurried through the lobby and ran toward the stairwell. I climbed four flights of stairs without stopping, ignoring the burning sensation in my legs because I knew my children needed immediate help.

I reached apartment 4B and pounded on the heavy door, calling for Mia and David. Nobody answered, and when I tried the handle, I discovered that the electronic lock was completely unresponsive.

“Mia! It’s Mommy! Can you hear me? Please answer!”

I pressed my ear against the door but heard nothing from inside. The digital keypad was dark, and the unusual warmth radiating from the apartment made me suspect that the electricity and air conditioning had stopped working.

Unable to wait for assistance, I grabbed a fire extinguisher from an emergency cabinet in the hallway. I struck the electronic lock repeatedly until its housing broke and the damaged mechanism finally allowed me to force the door open.

The smell inside was overwhelming, and the apartment was unbearably hot. The automated blinds covered every window, leaving the rooms almost completely dark, while spoiled food and dirty diapers suggested that nobody had cleaned or cared for the children in days.

“Mia! Where are you, sweetheart?”

My daughter emerged slowly from beside the kitchen island, holding a dirty plastic cup. Her hair was damp with sweat, her lips were cracked, and her exhausted appearance immediately told me that she was dangerously dehydrated.

“I tried, Mommy. I tried to feed the babies, but the refrigerator got warm, and the milk smelled bad.”

I embraced her briefly before asking where her brothers were. She pointed toward the living room, and I hurried to the playpen where Noah and Liam were lying motionless.

As a pediatric ICU nurse, I recognized the seriousness of their condition immediately. Both babies were unresponsive, their skin was unusually pale, and their pulses were so weak that I feared they were developing life-threatening shock from severe dehydration.

“Mia, hold onto my shirt and stay right behind me. We’re getting your brothers help.”

I lifted both boys into my arms and hurried toward the hallway with Mia following closely. Once outside, I shouted for someone to call an ambulance, explaining that three children needed emergency medical attention.

While waiting for help, I noticed a notification on my phone from the electricity provider. The message stated that service to David’s apartment had been terminated on Friday evening at six o’clock, following a request from the account holder.

I stared at the message in disbelief because Friday was the same day David had taken the children. The electricity hadn’t failed unexpectedly, and the notification suggested that someone had deliberately requested its termination.

At the hospital, the emergency team immediately began treating Noah and Liam for critical dehydration. Doctors worked to stabilize their circulation and restore fluids, while Mia received treatment in a nearby bed.

I stood beside my children, struggling to understand how their father could have allowed this to happen. Despite repeatedly calling David, I still hadn’t received a single response.