The nurse, still standing nearby, glanced between us with the careful, professional concern of someone trying to assess whether she needed to intervene.
“Everything checked out perfectly,” she said gently. “That kind of birthmark is called a congenital melanocytic nevus. Completely benign, very common. We’ll just keep an eye on it as she grows, the same way we would with any baby.”
“I know what it is medically,” Desmond said, his voice still unsteady. “I need a minute. Please.”
The nurse nodded and stepped back, giving us space, though she stayed close enough to keep an eye on things.
I reached for Desmond’s free hand, my heart pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with the exhaustion still moving through my body.
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