What is it?” He asked the nurse to give us a moment.

She hesitated, looked between us, and stepped out.

Then he turned to me, and the proud father of five minutes ago was gone, replaced by a stranger with cold fury in his eyes.

“Fabian has that exact birthmark,” he said.

The room tilted.

Fabian was his closest friend since middle school — the same Fabian who had driven our daughters home during a pregnancy scare, who brought groceries when Matthias worked eighty-hour weeks, who sat at our kitchen island drinking coffee while Anita napped against my shoulder.