As the nurse put our little, wiggling infant in Stephanie’s arms, something in the room shifted. Stephanie was anxious to hold our baby and had reached out.
Stephanie stared at the baby, her face colorless, her eyes wide with disbelief. “That’s not my baby,” she said, the words stopping in her mouth. “That isn’t my kid!”
Uncertain of what to think, I blinked. “What are you attempting to express? Steph, what are you talking about?
The nurse explained that they hadn’t cut the umbilical chord yet, but she wouldn’t accept that this was definitely our kid. She seemed like she wanted to shove it away.
“Observe, Brent!” Her voice was rising, worry threaded into each word. “She’s not… She isn’t I didn’t.
As I looked down at our kid, everything changed. Dark skin and soft curls. The ground seemed to have abruptly separated from under me.
