I remember lying in the hospital with my newborn beside me. One night, exhausted, I asked a nurse to take her to the nursery. She looked pale and said, “Your baby is already there.” My heart stopped. I hadn’t given her to anyone. Within minutes, more staff rushed in, asking who I’d handed her to. I hadn’t. Finally, they let me see the nursery. Relief hit when I spotted her swaddled and sleeping—until I saw the tag. It didn’t have my name.
The nurse claimed it was a “mistake,” but her tight voice told me otherwise. I refused to move until they placed my daughter back in my arms. Still, the fear lingered. I noticed the same man in scrubs passing my door, watching. I started sleeping with my hand over her crib. Before discharge, a young nurse slipped me a note: “Be careful who you trust here. Ask for Nurse Valeria if you come back.” Weeks later, another mom told me her baby had been switched for nearly an hour—until Valeria caught it.
