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.
I knew what it was. I’d read the pamphlets they sent home. My stomach turned over, and I nearly fainted.
“It’s spina bifida,” I whispered.
Melissa made a sound I hope I never hear again.
I turned the baby gently onto her side.
It wasn’t a word. It was a scream that filled the whole hallway, and I heard footsteps running.
“No. No, no, no,” my SIL kept saying. “The ultrasounds were fine! They said she was fine! They said she was fine, Ryan!”
“Melissa, please,” Ryan said. He still wasn’t looking at anyone.
Nurse Bianca burst back in, another nurse right behind her.
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