My 8-month-old daughter had a 104°F fever, my mother-in-law laughed “just teething,” my husband said “you’re panicking” — until my 7-year-old leaned in: “I know who did this…” Under the warm yellow light of an American kitchen, the forehead strip jumped to 104°F like a numerical warning. I held Hannah—eight months old, burning like a radiator—while the blender hummed and my mother-in-law smiled as if family recipes were science: “Just teething.” My husband shrugged: “You’re panicking.” I picked