Newborns changed every week.
I was grasping at shadows.
Three days later, my mother came to visit.
She held Lily for nearly an hour.
Then she smiled.
“She’s absolutely gorgeous.”
“I think so too.”
“But…”
She stopped.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“No. Tell me.”
She laughed awkwardly.
“I was just thinking she doesn’t resemble anyone in the family.”
My pulse quickened.
“You noticed?”
“Every baby is different.”
“But you noticed.”
She nodded reluctantly.
“A little.”
That single conversation planted another seed of doubt.
That afternoon, I dug an old storage box out of the attic.
Inside were Max’s newborn photos.
Mine.
Ethan’s.
I spread them across the dining table.
Max wandered over.
He pointed at one picture.
“That’s me.”
“It is.”
Then he pointed at Lily sleeping in her bassinet.
“That’s not her.”
