Chapter 3
The scene looked chaotic, but my attention narrowed to one thing: the baby’s body against my shoulder.
Blood from my cheek ran down the front of my uniform.
My upper arm was already beginning to throb from the impact.
The other woman still had hold of my clothing.
And the caregiver was trying to get around me.
I kept moving.
Every time one of them shifted toward the baby, I shifted too.
I did not need to overpower them.
I needed to keep the newborn out of their reach.
So I turned.
I backed away.
I kept my body between them and him.
Then we heard footsteps on the stairs.
Fast footsteps.
The baby’s mother appeared at the top.
She stopped for less than a second.
Her eyes traveled across the nursery doorway.
Taking in the spilled gauze, the bottles scattered across the floor, the thermometer beneath the crib.
The red powder tracked across the hall, and the blood staining my uniform.
Then she saw her son.
He was safe against my shoulder.
She looked at him.
Then she looked at the two women who had been fighting me for control of the doorway.
Whatever question she might have had about what happened disappeared behind the urgency of the moment.
She crossed the room.
She struck the caregiver across the head.
The fight broke apart just long enough for me to move farther into the hallway.
The newborn remained against my shoulder.
The caregiver’s friend turned toward the mother.
But the mother shoved her into the wall and ordered both women out.
For the first time since I had opened that nursery door, neither woman was touching me.
Neither woman was touching the baby.
The immediate danger had stopped.
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But the room had not become normal.
Not even close.
