My son and his wife asked me to look after their two-month-old while they went out shopping. But no matter how I held him, he wouldn’t stop crying—sharp, frantic, as if something was seriously wrong. When I lifted his clothes to check his diaper, I froze. What I saw was impossible to ignore. My hands began to shake. I scooped up my grandson and rushed him straight to the hospital. I’ll never forget that Saturday afternoon in Madrid. My son and his wife left their baby with me …

I will never forget that Saturday afternoon in Madrid.
My son and daughter-in-law had asked me to watch their two-month-old baby while they ran a few errands. I accepted with joy—after all, I had been waiting for any chance to spend time with my first grandchild. When they arrived, the little one was fast asleep in his stroller, wrapped snugly in a pale-blue blanket. After a quick goodbye, the door closed, and suddenly it was just the two of us.

Everything seemed perfectly ordinary at first. I prepared a warm bottle, made sure the room wasn’t too cold, and sat comfortably on the sofa with him in my arms. But only minutes later, he began to cry. Not a hungry cry. Not a tired cry. It was a painful, desperate wail that tightened something inside my chest.

I tried everything—rocking him, singing softly like I used to do with my children. But the more I soothed, the more distressed he seemed. His little body tensed, twisting in discomfort. Something wasn’t right. This wasn’t a normal cry.

Thinking it might be gas, I placed him against my shoulder and gently tapped his back. The crying only grew sharper. A knot of worry tightened in me; instinct told me I needed to check him.

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