The delivery room should have been filled with joy. Instead, when our daughter was born with beautiful dark skin—something we hadn’t anticipated as a white couple—my wife’s reaction was pure panic. “This isn’t my baby!” she screamed. “I’ve never slept with a Black man!”
The nurse tried to calm her, but my wife was hysterical. Family members left one by one, and I stood there, my stomach in knots. Part of me wanted to run. But then I looked at our little girl, so small and innocent, and knew I couldn’t.
I knelt beside my wife. “She’s ours,” I said softly. “And we’re going to love her no matter what.” Slowly, my wife’s tears turned to quiet awe as she held our daughter.
Later, we discovered my wife had distant African roots—a surprise that explained our baby’s gorgeous features. Now, she’s the light of our lives, teaching us daily that family isn’t about what you expect—it’s about who you love.
