Suddenly, a tiny, distinct hiss of escaping air echoed in the quiet room.
The doctor’s eyes went wide. Using a pair of delicate forceps, he reached deeper into the airway, twisted gently, and pulled. A tiny, completely transparent silicone suction cup, no larger than a fingernail, emerged from the child’s throat. It was coated in clear fluid, making it virtually invisible to the naked eye and traditional quick-scans.
A gasp rippled through the room. A second later, the flatline on the monitor broke.
Beep… Beep… Beep…
A sharp, ragged gasp tore from the infant’s chest, followed immediately by a loud, piercing cry. The sound filled the room, a beautiful, chaotic noise that signaled the return of life.
Isabelle collapsed to her knees, weeping tears of pure relief as the nurses rushed forward to stabilize the baby, whose color was already returning from a ghostly pale to a healthy pink. Richard Coleman stood frozen, staring at his breathing son, before slowly turning his gaze to the spot where Leo had been standing.
