Isabella examined him carefully. His heart sounded normal. His lungs were clear. His abdomen felt normal.
All the test results the parents showed her were also normal.
“What does he eat?” she asked.
“Premium imported formula,” Natalie replied. “The best available.”
“And his digestion?”
“Normal,” Richard answered impatiently. “Fifteen doctors have already asked that.”
Isabella paused, thinking.
“Who usually feeds him?”
Natalie hesitated.
“I do when I’m home. But I work part-time at an art gallery. Maria feeds him when I’m away. Sometimes our housekeeper, Linda, helps.”
Isabella turned to Richard.
“And you?”
“I run several companies,” he said stiffly. “I help when I can.”
Isabella said nothing, but mentally she noted something important: the baby was surrounded by caretakers but lacked constant parental presence.
Still, that alone couldn’t explain his condition.
She asked to see the kitchen and how the formula was prepared.
Everything looked perfect—filtered water, sterilized bottles, expensive brands.
Then she asked something unusual.
“I want to observe his next feeding.”
Later that night Maria prepared a bottle under Isabella’s watch. The measurements were exact, the temperature correct.