He nodded.
“For non-mobile infants, bruises like this are extremely rare without trauma. We have to investigate every possibility.”
My hands started shaking harder. I pressed them against my stomach to hide it and only then realized that I was doing the exact same gesture I used to do when Daniel was little and in trouble at school—holding myself closed, as if containing my own fear would somehow help the room.
“Doctor,” I whispered, “my son and his wife love that baby. They would never hurt him.”
Dr. Patel’s expression remained steady.
“I understand,” he said. “And I’m not making conclusions. But we do need to proceed carefully.”
Noah was transferred to the neonatal observation unit because, as one nurse explained in too-bright, practiced language, that was where they could monitor him most closely. They put a tiny IV in his hand. His crying finally weakened into exhausted whimpers. A pediatric resident came by. A social worker introduced herself. A hospital administrator in soft shoes explained paperwork. I signed forms without really reading them.
The bruise was still all I could see.
