His throat tightened, but he opened it anyway, because there are moments when you do what must be done even while part of you begs the world to prove you wrong.
Inside, wrapped in old towels that had once been white, lay a newborn, so small that the towels looked oversized, and for one awful second Nolan thought the child was gone from this world entirely, because the baby’s lips were tinted faintly, and his skin felt too cool when Nolan touched the tiny cheek with the back of his finger.
Then he saw it, barely there, the slightest rise and fall of a miniature chest, like a fragile wave that might stop if anyone blinked too hard.
Nolan’s voice broke as he turned and shouted toward the back hall.
“Call an ambulance now! Tell them we have a newborn in critical condition!”
