The doctor’s cheery voice gave way to a clipped monotone. He left the room and returned with a female technician. I assumed he was simply inexperienced at doing ultra­sounds and bristled with irritation as the woman redid everything he had just done. Then the woman put her hand on my arm and said the words that every expectant mother hopes she will never hear: “I am so sorry, there is something wrong with the baby. We need to fetch the consultant.”

“But there can’t be,” I responded immediately. “I saw the face. The baby looks fine to me.” She shook her head and squeezed my arm. I went cold all over.

What my daughter taught me about beauty, worth, and the gift of being…