“The results are conclusive.”
Caleb had been right.
The baby in my arms belonged to Marissa.
The baby with the dark oval birthmark belonged to us.
For ten years, I had been terrified that I would never bring a baby home.
It had never crossed my mind that my daughter could survive delivery, cry only feet away from me, and still almost leave the hospital with another family.
Denise carefully supervised the exchange.
When my daughter was finally placed against my chest again, I looked at her face first.
Then at the tiny dark oval near her left collarbone.
I touched it gently with one finger.
Caleb leaned beside me.
“Thumbprint.”
I started crying.
So did he.
“You knew what you saw.”
He shook his head.
“I just looked at her.”
Then Caleb turned toward the hospital administrator.
“Now explain the bands.”
The room fell silent again.
“How did somebody else’s baby end up wearing my wife’s name?”
That answer took longer.
