“I know,” she said softly. “I am not questioning your experience. But genetically, there is no maternal match. When results look like this, there are only two possibilities. A laboratory error, or a baby mix-up.”
My mouth went dry. “A mix-up? As in… switched babies?”
I pressed my hand to my chest, struggling to breathe. “So what does this mean?”
“It means law enforcement must be notified immediately,” she replied. “If this was an accidental exchange, we need to locate the other infant right away. If it was intentional, this becomes a criminal investigation.”
Without realizing it, I tightened my arms around the baby carrier. He slept peacefully, unaware that the ground beneath my life had completely given way.
“Are you saying someone took my baby?” I asked.
“I’m saying we don’t know yet,” she said. “And we can’t afford to wait.”
She slid her phone toward me. “I can stay with you while you call. Please don’t leave the building.”
My hands shook as I dialed. When the dispatcher answered, my voice sounded distant, like it belonged to someone else.
“I’m at Saint Mary’s Hospital,” I said. “My doctor told me to call. They believe my baby may have been switched.”
In that moment, one truth settled heavily in my chest.
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