I could only stare at my husband, on his knees on the welcome mat, his face wet and broken.
And slowly, slowly, the pieces started falling into place.
The way his face went white when I showed him the positive test.
How.
The phone call at midnight in the backyard. I’m choosing to believe it.
Do you think she’ll look like me?
The laptop snapped shut at the kitchen table.
And the hair. My daughter’s copper-red hair. Neither of us had it. Nobody in his family had it. Nobody in mine that he knew of.
He thought I’d cheated on him.
He’d spent nine months trying to believe in a miracle. And then he looked down at our daughter’s head, and the doubt he’d been holding back broke through all at once.
This isn’t the baby I wanted.
I can’t believe you did this to me.
