He hesitated.
That hesitation hurt more than labor itself.
Finally, he stepped forward and awkwardly took our daughter into his arms. His jaw tightened as he studied her face.
“She doesn’t look like me,” he said quietly.
At first, I thought he was joking.
I even laughed weakly. “She was born ten minutes ago, Dylan.”
But he didn’t smile.
My own smile slowly disappeared.
The nurse shifted uncomfortably before excusing herself from the room. The silence she left behind felt enormous.
“What do you mean?” I asked carefully.
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