“Call the police,” he said quietly.
I laughed nervously. “Daniel, stop. You’re scaring me.”
“Call them,” he repeated, his voice trembling.
That’s when I really looked at him. His face was drained of color, eyes unfocused—the kind of fear that hits before logic can catch up.
“Why?” I whispered. “What’s wrong?”
He swallowed. “Didn’t you notice?”
“Notice what?”
“That baby isn’t a newborn.”
My heart skipped. “That’s impossible. Emily gave birth today.”
Daniel shook his head. “I work in emergency care. I see newborns all the time. That baby’s umbilical stump is nearly healed. That takes over a week.” He paused. “And he has a vaccination mark on his thigh. You don’t get that in the delivery room.”
The hallway felt like it was tilting.
“There’s more,” he said. “The baby’s ID band doesn’t match your sister’s.”
Behind us, the door handle moved slightly—someone inside trying to open it.
Daniel tightened his grip. “Call the police. Now.”
My fingers shook as I dialed.
I explained everything to the dispatcher, feeling ridiculous even as the words left my mouth.
“My sister just gave birth,” I said. “But my husband believes the baby isn’t hers.”