⸻
She turned the first bundle toward me, then the second, and I understood, all at once, exactly why she’d needed me sitting down first.
⸻
Our sons had noticeably, undeniably different skin tones. Owen, born first, had my own fair complexion, light hair already visible against his small head. Malcolm, born four minutes later, had a considerably deeper, richer skin tone, dark curls already thick enough to see clearly.
⸻
“I don’t understand,” I said slowly.
“I don’t either,” Corinne said, tears still falling. “I promise you, Theo, I have never once been unfaithful to you. I need you to believe that, especially right now, before anyone else gets the chance to plant a different idea in your head.”
⸻
I looked at both boys again, working through genetics I only vaguely remembered from a high school biology class decades earlier.
⸻
“I believe you,” I said, and found, sitting there, thatI genuinely meant it. “I don’t understand it. But I believe you.”
