He didn’t answer. He couldn’t take his eyes off the baby — the small curve of the nose, the shape of the lips, and, just beneath the left ear, a faint crescent-shaped birthmark.

Abigail struggled to sit up, panic climbing in her chest. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong with my baby?”

The doctor swallowed hard, and when he spoke his voice was barely above a whisper. “Where is the baby’s father?”

Abigail’s guard came up. “He’s not here.”

“I need his name,” the doctor said, serious but not harsh.

“Why does that matter right now?” she asked, her voice tightening.