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He doesn't understand why they put her in the NIC-U. She looks just fine. Sure, she's small; surprisingly small when you consider where she came from, but she looks like a normal baby.
Rosemary's crying; he can't stand it. His arms are around her, and he asks. "She's fine. I've got to talk to someone, they have the wrong kid."
"Are you serious?" His Rosemary weeps.
He watches through the window. A nurse drops a chart in front of the bassinet.
"It's my fault." She whispers when the doors swing open.
The Doctor says the tumor will be removed tomorrow.