The newborn lay on a soft towel beneath quiet morning light, her tiny leg lifted gently by careful hands, the UV lamp warming the air with a low, steady glow.
Her skin was thin as petal silk, every vein faintly visible, every breath a fragile promise, while the strange violet light touched the wounded place meant to heal her today.
She did not understand the warmth or the stillness required of her small body, yet she trusted the hands that held her steady and whispered soft assurance into the quiet.
Minutes moved slowly as the light soaked into tender skin, calming swelling and waking tiny cells to mend what cruelty and accident had torn open so early in life already.
Her lifted foot trembled once, then settled, the smallest sign of courage returning, a whispering answer to the silent hope growing in every watching heart around her fragile little body.
The caregiver watched the timer with careful patience, guarding each second as if it were blood itself, knowing too much light could harm and too little would fail her now.
Outside the room the world continued noisily, but inside only breath, warmth, and will existed, three fragile forces working together to grant this newborn another chance at the edge of.
When the lamp finally dimmed and the leg was lowered, a soft sigh escaped her lips, barely sound, yet heavy with relief hidden inside a newborn chest at that moment.
She curled slightly, clutching the towel with instinct older than memory, as if to say she still belonged to warmth, still belonged to living despite the pain she had faced.
Under fading violet light she rested, leg quiet, breath steady, a tiny survivor beneath human care, proving again that even the weakest life fights hardest to stay in this world.
