Chen Hao stuffed his phone into his pocket and glanced at the clock on the wall. It was almost 10:00, and his prenatal checkup appointment was approaching.

He turned around and knocked twice on the bedroom door: "Let's go, we'll be late if we don't leave now."

The door opened a crack, and Susan peeked out, her hair just tied up, her face expressionless. She nodded, grabbed her bag, and came out. Carl was already waiting in the living room, holding a tablet with a photo of yesterday's printed medical report on the screen. Nana stood by the sofa, its casing gleaming matte in the morning light.

"I'm driving today." Chen Hao snatched the keys from Karl's hand. "Stop fighting over them."

No one spoke much on the road. The radio was broadcasting the weather forecast, saying there would be showers today. Chen Hao turned the air conditioning down a notch and tapped his fingers rhythmically on the steering wheel, trying to break the silence. He cleared his throat: "After the baby is born, shouldn't we get a seven-seater? Otherwise, there won't be enough room."

Carl looked down at his tablet and didn't reply. Susan leaned back in the passenger seat, one hand on her stomach, her eyes fixed on the passing shadows of trees outside the window.

Nana, sitting in the back, suddenly spoke up: "The current fetal heart rate is 147 beats per minute, which is within the normal range."

Chen Hao glanced at her in the rearview mirror: "You could tell?"

"The equipment has been connected to the hospital's monitoring system," she said. "Real-time data synchronization is underway."

Upon arriving at the hospital, the nurse called their names. The four of them walked into the examination room together. The doctor was a middle-aged woman wearing a mask, revealing only a pair of very calm eyes. She pulled up the ultrasound image and tapped a string of numbers on the right side of the screen.

"The fetus's femur length is slightly below the average for its gestational age," she said. "Currently, the deviation is about eight percent, which is not serious, but we need to monitor its subsequent development."

The air suddenly felt a little lighter.

Susan's hand slowly moved to her lower abdomen, her knuckles turning slightly white. Chen Hao leaned forward: "What does that mean? Does it mean you're growing slowly?"

"We can only say that the indicators are a bit low." The doctor flipped through the report. "It may be related to genetics, or it may be affected by nutrient absorption. We suggest doing a detailed screening again in two weeks to see if there are any changes."

"Can it be cured?" Karl asked.

"This isn't a disease," the doctor shook his head. "It's just a reminder that we need to pay more attention to pregnancy management. If the values ​​continue to drop in the next test, we may consider further intervention."

No one asked any more questions.

The corridor lights were a bit cold as they left the consultation room. Susan walked ahead, her pace slow, without turning back. Chen Hao reached out to take her hand, but pulled it back halfway. Carl looked down at his phone, opened a medical forum page, and scrolled quickly.

Nana's voice sounded from behind: "The database is comparing similar cases worldwide over the past three years and has initially selected 213 relevant articles."

"Stop reading the data," Chen Hao interrupted her. "We need to figure out how serious this is."

Back home, Carl went straight to his study. He placed his tablet on the table, opened the video conferencing software, and dialed a number. It was an obstetrician-gynecologist he had met at the research institute.

While waiting for the call to connect, he scratched his head: "I hope they're at work today."

The phone rang three times before being answered. After listening to the situation, the other party pondered for a few seconds: "This range of deviation is not uncommon clinically, but we can't be completely careless. It's best to do a genetic screening to rule out potential factors."

"Do we need to remove amniotic fluid?" Karl frowned.

"No need to rush," the other party said. "First, strengthen nutrition and have regular check-ups. Doesn't your robot have a database? Have her check for micronutrient supplementation plans."

After hanging up the phone, Carl came out and saw Chen Hao squatting in front of the refrigerator, rummaging through milk cartons.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Check the calcium content." Chen Hao said without looking up. "The brand I bought yesterday seems to have a higher calcium content."

“Calcium supplements aren’t always effective,” Carl said. “The doctor said it might be an absorption problem.”

Susan sat on the sofa, flipping through a pregnancy handbook. She wasn't reading the contents; she was just mechanically turning the pages. Nana stood beside her, the projector lit up, scrolling through abstracts of medical papers.

“Susan,” Nana suddenly stopped, “you haven’t filled out your fetal movement record for today.”

Susan looked up: "I haven't felt it yet."

“The most active period is usually between nine and eleven in the morning,” Nana said. “I suggest you sit quietly and observe for ten minutes now.”

She did as instructed. She placed her hands on her stomach and closed her eyes. The room fell silent. Five minutes passed, and nothing happened.

Chen Hao walked over and sat down: "Could it be... that there's a problem if I don't move?"

“There are individual differences in fetal movement,” Nana said. “Currently, there is no evidence to suggest that it is abnormal.”

This statement did not reassure anyone.

Around 8 PM, Chen Hao was curled up on the sofa scrolling through his phone. Webpages kept popping up, all with titles like "What to do if the fetus is too small?" and "Does malnutrition affect intelligence?" The more he read, the faster his heart raced, until finally he simply turned his phone upside down on the coffee table.

“I’ll go see a specialist tomorrow,” he said. “A friend introduced me to the director of a private hospital. I’ve heard he’s incredibly ruthless and specializes in treating difficult and complicated diseases.”

Carl looked up from his computer: "I've contacted doctors in three different cities, and we'll have a three-way online consultation tomorrow afternoon."

Susan, lying in bed, heard the sound and said softly, "Don't spend so much money."

“Anything that can be solved with money isn’t a problem.” Chen Hao stood up. “I’ll message them now to schedule a time.”

Nana's blue light kept flashing. Her main program had switched to medical analysis mode, with a case matching algorithm running in the background. Three possibilities were listed on the screen: insufficient maternal nutrition, low placental blood supply efficiency, and risk of mild chromosomal microdeletion.

She marked each item with a priority and attached the intervention window period.

“The first one is the most reversible,” she said softly. “If you adjust your diet and supplement with a specific combination of amino acids within three weeks, you may be able to return to a normal growth curve.”

Chen Hao leaned closer to look: "Which amino acid?"

“L-arginine and taurine,” Nana said, pointing out the molecular formula. “They are commonly found in deep-sea fish, egg yolks, and fortified milk powder.”

"Then hurry up and buy it," he said.

“Some products contain additives,” Nana cautioned. “Avoid products containing artificial flavors and preservatives.”

"Going through ingredient lists again?" Chen Hao sighed. "It's more troublesome than choosing stocks."

The next morning, Chen Hao went to the hospital with a slip of paper filled with questions. He spread the paper out in front of the doctor: "Please answer these seven questions one by one."

The doctor glanced at it and smiled: "You really did your homework."

Meanwhile, Karl received a reply email from her international colleagues. They provided an appendix to European clinical guidelines and noted: "Most of these deviations correct themselves in late pregnancy; excessive intervention may actually increase the pregnant woman's anxiety."

He forwarded the information to Nana. She quickly analyzed it and updated the risk assessment model.

That evening, the whole family gathered in the living room. Nana projected the information she had compiled onto the wall: three possible causes, each with supporting data and coping suggestions.

"What do we do now?" Chen Hao asked.

“We will implement the monitoring plan,” Nana said. “We will record daily changes in diet, fetal movement, and weight. We will summarize these changes weekly and adjust the plan accordingly.”

Susan finally spoke up: "I'd like to try eating more fish."

"I'll make it." Chen Hao immediately stood up. "Steamed, without MSG."

Carl closed his laptop: "I have two more remote consultations next week, and I'll keep following up."

Nana's blue light flashed slowly, indicating that the program was still running. She neither shut down the analysis module nor reduced the computing power allocation.

At one in the morning, Chen Hao tiptoed into the study. The computer was still on, and Nana was standing by the desk, the screen scrolling with new literature abstracts. He glanced at the titles; they were all translations from foreign journals.

"Aren't you going to sleep yet?" he asked.

“The system is constantly receiving updated data,” she said. “The latest one was published three hours ago, a study on the relationship between maternal metabolic rate and fetal growth.”

Chen Hao leaned against the doorframe for a while: "Do you think... this child will blame us for being too nervous later?"

Nana paused for a second: "Human emotions are unpredictable. But I can confirm that your current behavior is a typical protective response."

He smiled and said nothing more.

Back in the bedroom, Susan was still awake. She lay there with her eyes open, her hand on her stomach. Hearing a noise, she turned to look at him.

"I moved around a bit today," she said.

"Really?" He immediately sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Just like a bubble bursting."

He placed his hand on it and waited for a long time. He felt nothing.

"It will move again tomorrow," she said.

He nodded and lay down beside her. In the darkness, neither of them closed their eyes.

The next day at noon, Nana suddenly issued a notification. She pulled up a chart: "Based on data from the past three days, the frequency of fetal movements has been on the rise, and today it has reached the lower limit of the standard."

Chen Hao was eating a steamed bun when he almost choked: "Does that mean... you're getting better?"

"We can't draw conclusions yet," she said, "but the trend is positive."

Carl leaned closer: "Should we check the nutritional intake again? Was the cod we ate yesterday enough?"

"It's been recorded," Nana said. "Today's protein intake met the target, but vitamin D was slightly insufficient. I suggest adding fifteen minutes of sun exposure."

Chen Hao wiped the grease from his mouth: "Okay, I'll take her downstairs for a walk this afternoon."

The sun was shining brightly when they went out. Susan walked slowly, and Chen Hao followed beside her, his eyes fixed on her belly. When they sat down on a bench in the community garden, he suddenly reached out and pressed her wrist.

"His pulse is beating quite steadily," he said.

She glanced at him and asked, "What are you doing?"

"Learn some basic Traditional Chinese Medicine knowledge." He chuckled. "The internet says you can tell a fetus's condition by taking its pulse."

"You can't even accurately measure your own heartbeat," she couldn't help but laugh.

Nana stood to the side, the blue light flashing softly. She didn't remind them that there were only six minutes left for sunbathing, nor did she announce the nutritional plan for the next meal.

The wind rustled the leaves. Susan closed her eyes and placed her hand back on her lower abdomen. After a few seconds, she opened her eyes, and her lips twitched slightly.

"He moved again."