All five babies were Black.
That was the first thing my husband screamed when the nurse placed them beside me.
Not Are they healthy?
Not You did it.
Not even How are you feeling?
Just disbelief—raw, ugly disbelief—echoing off the sterile white walls of the maternity ward.
I remember the smell of antiseptic, the dull ache still tearing through my body, and the way my arms trembled as I tried to hold two of my newborns while the other three slept in the bassinet beside the bed. Five tiny chests rising and falling. Five perfect lives.
And my husband stood frozen at the foot of the bed, his face drained of all color.
“They’re not mine,” he said hoarsely.
