God help me, I had delivered him.
“Why?” I asked.
Harris leaned forward.
“Mrs. Carter, did your husband ever talk to you about custody?”
I laughed once, broken and empty.
“He didn’t want custody. He barely remembered birthdays. He sent money when payroll forced him to.”
“Did he ever believe your son was not his?”
I looked up sharply.
“What?”
Harris studied my face.
“Did he ever accuse you of cheating?”
The old shame rose before I could stop it.
Daniel had not just accused me. He had built a house out of the accusation and made me live inside it.
When Noah was born with my dark hair instead of his blond curls, Daniel stared at him in the hospital bassinet for twenty full seconds before saying, “He doesn’t look like me.”
I thought he was exhausted. Nervous. A new father overwhelmed by the weight of everything.
