A nurse hurried inside, followed by Dr.
Patel, who had cared for me throughout the final weeks of pregnancy.
Julian backed against the wall and whispered that someone had made a terrible mistake, although nobody understood what mistake he meant.
Dr.
Patel examined the baby's back carefully before telling us the mark required documentation, not panic or immediate conclusions.
She explained that a visible birthmark alone could not establish a diagnosis, a child's parentage, or anything about her future.
Julian shook his head with an expression I recognized from childhood, the look he wore whenever he had already decided to lie.
That recognition hurt more than my stitches, because my brother had always been the person I trusted when everything else collapsed.
Chloe asked him to hold their daughter again, but he kept his hands behind his back as if touching her might expose him.
The baby stirred against my chest, making a small searching sound that seemed impossibly gentle beside the shouting adults surrounding her.
