At the Hospital
The emergency room doors slid open, and I rushed inside holding Noah tightly.
A nurse immediately noticed the crying baby in my arms.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“There’s a bruise,” I said quickly, trying to keep my voice steady. “He won’t stop crying. Something’s wrong.”
Within minutes, they had us in a small examination room.
A pediatric doctor came in — a woman in her early forties with calm eyes and gentle hands. She examined Noah carefully, lifting his tiny shirt.
Her expression changed immediately.
“Where did this bruise come from?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I replied, my voice shaking. “I just noticed it. My son and his wife asked me to watch him while they went to the mall.”
The doctor pressed lightly around the bruise.
Noah screamed again.
The doctor sighed softly.
“We’re going to run a few checks,” she said. “Just to make sure everything is okay.”
But I could see it in her face.
She was worried.
