They were about to lay him in Abigail’s arms when the attending doctor stepped closer to finish the medical report. He was a man in his late fifties with a calm, settled presence — the kind that usually put a room at ease.

His name was Dr. Harrison Pierce.

He picked up the chart and looked down at the newborn. Then his whole body went still, as if something unseen had stopped the clock around him.

The nurse saw at once that his face had gone pale and his hand trembled above the clipboard. His eyes, steady a moment before, filled with something raw and personal.

Tears.

“Doctor, is everything alright?” the nurse asked carefully.