The silence in the examination room stretched so tight it felt like the walls were closing in on us. The humming of the ultrasound machine suddenly sounded like a roar in my ears. I squeezed Maya’s ankle, feeling the fragile, bird-like bones beneath her pale skin.
"What do you mean, confirm?" I asked, my voice cracking. "Dr. Lawson, what is inside my daughter?"
Dr. Lawson took a deep breath, his eyes filled with a mixture of professional restraint and profound sorrow. He turned the monitor fully toward me. To my untrained eyes, it was just a sea of static, black and gray waves. But right in the lower quadrant of Maya’s abdomen, there was a stark, solid white shape. It didn't look organic. It had hard, unnatural edges.