Then came delivery. Doctors rushing. Machines beeping. Corinne crying out.
When I was finally let back into the room, she lay exhausted under the bright lights, two tiny bundles in her arms.
Tears streamed down her face. “Don’t look at them,” she whispered. “Corinne, what’s wrong?
Are they okay?” “They’re healthy. Both of them. I just need you to sit down first.”
I sat. My heart pounding. She turned the first bundle toward me. Then the second.
And I understood exactly why she needed me sitting down. Our sons had completely different skin tones.
Owen looked exactly like me. Malcolm’s skin was considerably deeper, his curls already thick and dark.
“I don’t understand,” I said slowly. “I don’t either,” she said. “I have never once been unfaithful to you, Theo.
I need you to believe that. Especially right now.” I looked at both boys again, working through genetics I barely remembered from high school.
