Opening scene Alison Tyler stood with one hand pressed to the temperature-reader on her son's forehead, the hospital's fluorescent hum folding into the tremor of her breath. Jacob’s chest rose shallowly, his small fingers curled around the frayed edge of a stuffed fox. The doctor across from her—steady eyes, a voice that tried to be gentle—had just finished saying three words that felt like an accusation and a promise at once: “He needs a full—”