They declared the baby dead… and she stormed in with a bucket of ice – mynraa

Camila finally turned her head.
She looked not at her son, not at the doctor, but at Mariana’s bleeding palm gripping the bassinet rail hard enough to whiten her knuckles.

“Why are they waiting?” Camila asked.
Her voice was soft and flat, but it made every person there feel accused in a way shouting would not have managed.

The younger nurse stepped closer with the stethoscope.
The doctor snapped her name once, sharply, but she had already leaned down, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed in concentration.

Nothing moved for one long second.
Then another.

Mariana became aware of tiny sounds that should not have mattered: melting water tapping metal, someone swallowing, the distant elevator bell opening two corridors away.

The nurse adjusted the chest piece and listened again.
Her lashes trembled. Her mouth parted. Then she looked up too quickly, like someone afraid of her own answer.

“I need the warmer back,” she said.
The doctor stared at her.

“I said I need the warmer back,” she repeated, louder now.
“And call neonatal. Now.”