My ten-year-old daughter stared at the newborn in my arms, her face pale, before whispering,

Mark nodded, his expression serious as he put a comforting hand on Emily’s shoulder. “Stay here with your mom, okay? I’ll talk to the nurses,” he said, trying to sound reassuring. But the worry in his eyes betrayed him.

As Mark left the room, I looked back at the picture on Emily’s phone and then at the baby in my arms. It was impossible to imagine that this little soul might not be my own flesh and blood. Every maternal instinct I had screamed to protect her, to love her. But the doubt gnawed at me, twisting my insides with dread.

Emily sat down beside me, her small hands clutching her phone tightly. “What if they can’t fix it, Mom?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “What if we take home the wrong baby?”

I hugged her with one arm, holding Olivia with the other. “No matter what, we’ll figure this out,” I assured her, though I wasn’t certain myself. “We’ll make sure everything is right.”

Minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness. Finally, Mark returned, followed by a nurse whose demeanor was both professional and apologetic.

“I’m so sorry for the confusion,” the nurse began, glancing at the phone still in Emily’s grip. “It seems there was an error with the app that uploaded the pictures. Some profiles were mixed up.”

“How can we be sure?” I asked, my voice tinged with desperation. “How can we know she’s really ours?”

The nurse nodded, understanding the gravity of our concern. “We can do a quick identification check,” she offered. “We have Olivia’s footprints and other records on file. We can compare them right away.”

The nurse’s words were somewhat reassuring, but the knot in my stomach didn’t loosen. Mark and I exchanged a glance, a silent agreement that we needed to follow through, whatever it took.

We agreed to the check, and the nurse gently took Olivia from my arms, promising to return soon. The room felt colder without her presence, the emptiness echoing my anxiety.

Emily leaned into me, her head resting against my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to make things scary.”

I kissed the top of her head, grateful for her bravery. “You did the right thing, sweetheart. We’ll get through this together.”

After what felt like an eternity, the nurse returned, holding Olivia with a reassuring smile. “Everything matches perfectly,” she announced. “This is your Olivia Grace.”

Relief surged through me, bringing a wave of tears. I took Olivia back into my arms, holding her close. She was ours. The fear began to ebb, replaced by a profound sense of gratitude.

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“Thank you,” I told the nurse, my voice thick with emotion.

Mark let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for hours, and Emily wrapped her arms around us both.

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