« Mary’s pregnant too, » he added. « The baby is mine. »
No one moved.
Not me.
Not Mary.
« The baby is mine. »
Not Byron’s father, Thomas, who stood beside the window holding a blue gift bag.
Even Nurse Patricia, who had been checking the line taped to my arm, went still.
Less than an hour earlier, she had placed my son in my arms and told me he already knew my voice.
Now I could barely hear my own.
« How long, Byron? » I asked.