So I swabbed the inside of her tiny cheek while she squirmed and complained. I mailed one envelope to Ben with a short note that said, Swab and send it in. Not for you. For her. He sent it back the very next day. He didn’t write anything else. He just did it.
The results came eleven days later.
I opened the envelope standing at my parents’ kitchen counter, the same counter where my dad made Mickey Mouse pancakes, with Evelyn in the carrier strapped to my chest.
Probability of paternity: 99.99%.
I read it three times. Then I folded it carefully and put it in the green leather photo album, right next to the picture of Copper Tom holding my mother on his knee.
That afternoon, I picked up my phone and texted Ben for the first time since the hospital.
Results came. You can come see her on Saturday. One hour. My parents’ house. My dad will be there.
