An IV line was taped to his tiny hand, secured with a piece of colorful gauze.

A different doctor, a woman with graying hair and wire-rimmed glasses, was writing on a tablet.

She looked up as we entered and set the tablet down on a counter.

“Hello, Marissa,” she said, her voice calm and steady.

“I’m Dr. Vance.”

“Is he…” I started, but my throat closed up.

“He is stable on the ventilator,” Dr. Vance said, walking over to us.

“We started him on broad-spectrum antibiotics and a high dose of IV fluids.”

She pulled up a chair and sat down so she was at eye level with me.

“Marissa, Rowan has a very severe respiratory infection.”

“His lungs were filled with fluid, and he was in acute respiratory failure.”

I pulled my hospital gown tighter around my shoulders.

“How did this happen?” I asked.

“He was fine yesterday when we left the maternity ward.”

“Infants can decline very quickly,” Dr. Vance explained.

“But this infection has been building for at least twelve hours.”

She looked at me closely, her eyes scanning my pale face and the dirt on my clothes.