The ride felt endless. Every second stretched tight in my chest. I kept glancing at Oliver in the rearview mirror, my heartbeat loud in my ears.

“Hold on, sweetheart,” I whispered. “Grandma’s getting you help.”

When I reached the emergency entrance, I didn’t even park properly. I grabbed him and rushed through the sliding doors.

A nurse at reception stood up immediately. “What’s going on?”

“My grandson,” I said breathlessly. “He won’t stop crying—and I just found a bruise. He’s only two months old.”

Her expression changed instantly. “Come with me.”

Within seconds, we were in a small exam room. Another nurse gently placed Oliver on the table.

The moment they touched his stomach, he screamed.

“That’s where it is,” I said, pointing with shaking hands.

The nurse moved his clothing aside—and froze.

“I’m getting the doctor,” she said quietly.

My stomach dropped.

Something was wrong.

Dr. Harris arrived quickly. He was calm, middle-aged, with tired but kind eyes. He examined Oliver carefully, pressing lightly around the bruise.

Oliver cried out again.

“When did you notice this?” he asked.

“About ten minutes ago,” I said. “He suddenly started crying—I thought it was nothing until I saw it.”

He studied me. “Has anyone else been caring for him?”

“Only his parents.”

He nodded. “We need to do an ultrasound.”

Fear tightened in my chest. “Is he going to be okay?”

“We need to check something first,” he said gently.

The room grew quiet except for the low hum of the machine. The technician moved the probe across Oliver’s tiny abdomen while Dr. Harris watched the screen.

At first, I didn’t understand what I was seeing.

But his expression grew serious.

“Wait,” he said.

The image froze.

He turned to me slowly. “Has he fallen recently?”

“No,” I said immediately. “He can barely move.”

“That’s what I thought,” he said.

My pulse raced. “What is it?”

He pointed at the screen.

“There’s internal bleeding in the liver.”

My breath caught. “What?”

“It looks like strong pressure was applied to his abdomen.”

My knees weakened. “Pressure?”

“In infants this small, even squeezing too hard can cause damage.”

My mind went blank. “Are you saying… someone hurt him?”

He didn’t answer directly.

But he didn’t need to.

“We’re going to treat this immediately,” he said. “And because of the injury pattern, we’re required to notify child protective services.”

The room spun.

“Protection services?”