Hannah sat cross-legged on the living room rug, the warm morning light streaming through the tall windows. Toys scattered around her—a stuffed giraffe, a rattle, a few brightly colored blocks and a few feet from her, Julian chuckled happily beside her, his chubby hands slapping against the soft mat.She glanced at Bella, who sat a few feet away, quietly chewing on a teething ring, her wide eyes fixed on the sunlight dancing on the floor. She looked so small, so fragile, her tiny fingers grasping the plastic toy like it held all the answers in the world.Hannah’s heart tightened. She had noticed it a few days ago—how Bella seemed to watch her brothers with a sort of quiet detachment, how she took longer to reach for the toys, how her babbling was softer, less frequent.At first, she brushed it off as normal. Every baby developed at their own pace, she told herself. But as the days stretched into a week, the nagging fear in the back of her mind grew louder.That night, after the kids we
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