Dr. Harris arrived shortly after. Calm, composed—but serious.
He examined Oliver carefully. The baby cried again when his abdomen was touched.
“When did you notice this?” he asked.
“Just now,” I said. “He suddenly started crying uncontrollably.”
He nodded.
“Has anyone else been caring for him?”
“Only his parents,” I replied.
“We’re going to run an ultrasound,” he said.
My chest tightened.
The room fell quiet except for the soft hum of the machine.
I didn’t understand what I was looking at—but the doctor did.
And his expression grew more serious by the second.
“Pause,” he told the technician.
Then he turned to me.
“Did the baby fall recently?”
“No,” I said immediately. “He can barely move.”
The doctor nodded slowly.
“That’s what I thought.”
My heart started racing.
“What is it?”
He hesitated.
“There’s internal bleeding.”
I felt the air leave my lungs.
“What?”
“It appears someone applied significant pressure to his abdomen,” he explained gently.
My knees went weak.
“Are you saying someone hurt him?”
He didn’t answer directly.
But he didn’t need to.
“We’re going to treat him right away,” he said. “And we’re required to notify child protective services.”
Everything started spinning.