Gradually, the confusion began to clear.
The supposed eleventh newborn entry was found to be a duplicate record created during an emergency transfer. It did not represent an additional child.
The missing identification number belonged to the baby with the crescent-shaped mark.
That baby was mine.
The other newborns were accounted for, and their records were corrected.
There had never been a confirmed eleventh child.
There had been nine babies delivered to me, followed by a frightening series of documentation failures that made the hospital’s records suggest otherwise.
Nine babies.
Even after the truth emerged, I could hardly believe it.
Nine tiny lives had entered the world in a single delivery, and all I wanted was to hold each one of them.
The doctors explained that the pregnancy had been exceptionally high-risk and that the babies needed different levels of neonatal support. Some were breathing independently, while others required help with breathing, feeding, or maintaining their body temperature.
