“Ryan, she’s your daughter,” I said, and I could hear my voice trembling. “What is going on?”
Melissa was out of her chair now, her hands out, tears in her eyes.
“Why? Ryan, why can’t we take our daughter home? Tell me right now!”
I couldn’t breathe.
My brother wouldn’t look at her. He kept his eyes on the floor, his face going that awful shade of red I recognized from when we were kids and he’d done something he couldn’t take back.
He exhaled and said, “Look at her back. We can’t do this.”
I hadn’t looked yet. I’d been so focused on his face that I hadn’t unwrapped the blanket.
My brother wouldn’t look at her.
With trembling fingers, I turned the baby gently onto her side and pulled the fabric down just enough.
There, at the base of her spine, was a small reddish mark. A soft, raised area, covered by skin, no bigger than a quarter.
