I took a step toward the gurney. The fluorescent light in the delivery room fell directly on the child’s face, highlighting the purplish mark like a cruel spotlight.

Melissa’s eyes widened. Her hands, which seconds ago had been caressing her firstborn, now clenched the sheets. The starched fabric creaked beneath her manicured fingers.

“That’s…” Melissa’s voice failed. She swallowed hard, her lips tightening into a thin line. “What is that on his face?”

I stopped mid-stride. My arms instinctively pressed the baby against my chest. The child had stopped crying, as if he, too, sensed the shift in the atmosphere.

“It’s a birthmark, Mrs. Thornton,” I said, my voice steady despite the sudden dryness in my throat. “A benign vascular malformation. It poses no health risk whatsoever. Over time, it may fade. There are laser treatments that—”