We were at the hospital by four in the morning. I demanded the head nurse, and my husband demanded the records. Within an hour, the hospital director arrived, pale and apologetic, and a security officer pulled the nursery logs. A young night nurse had indeed swapped two identical bracelets by accident while rushing between rooms. A family two doors down had also gone home with a baby that was not theirs.

The director phoned the other parents, and by dawn both families sat in a small conference room, holding babies who did not look familiar. Nobody shouted. The other mother, Dana, simply stared at the child in my arms and began to cry. Blood tests confirmed the mix-up, and the nurse who had made the error stood in the corner, shaking, and apologized to all of us with tears running down her face.

We exchanged the babies that same morning. The moment I held my own daughter, the little star behind her ear against my wrist, I sobbed so hard that my husband had to steady me. Eli leaned over, touched her hand, and said, “There you are.” She curled her fingers around his. He had known all along, and he had kept the secret while we told him he was only jealous.

The hospital changed its wristband procedure and gave every family a second bracelet and a footprint card. Dana and I became close friends, and our children share birthdays at the park. Eli sleeps beside his sister’s crib most nights, and I never again tell him he is imagining things. When he says something is wrong, I listen, and I always kneel down first.