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No one in that delivery room expected anything unusual. The lights were bright and clinical, the air tinged with antiseptic, and the rhythm of the shift felt familiar—monitor beeps, quiet instructions, the steady coordination of a team that had done this countless times before. It was supposed to be routine: a mother in labor, a final push, a newborn’s first cry.
Then the baby arrived, and the room changed.
But before anyone could speak, someone noticed his fist.
His tiny hand was clenched tight, not in the instinctive curl newborns often have, but around something unmistakable. A small, pale object caught in his grip like a strange accessory no one had put there. For a split second, the staff stared without understanding what they were seeing.
Then recognition hit.
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