I was wrong.
The morning after Lily’s birth, Ethan walked into my hospital room carrying an enormous bouquet of white roses.
He looked exhausted.
His hair was messy.
His shirt was wrinkled from spending the night in the waiting room.
But he was smiling.
“This is the happiest day of my life,” he whispered as he kissed my forehead.
Then he turned toward the bassinet.
Lily was sleeping peacefully, one tiny fist curled beside her face.
Ethan leaned over her.
And suddenly, his smile disappeared.
He froze.
His eyes moved toward the skin just behind her ear.
The bouquet slipped from his hand.
White roses scattered across the hospital floor.
“Ethan?”
He didn’t answer.
My heart started pounding.
“What’s wrong?”
He carefully lifted Lily from the bassinet and stared at her as though he had seen something impossible.
Then he looked at me.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
My stomach dropped.
“Tell you what?”
For one horrible second, I thought he was questioning whether Lily was his.
I had no idea what else could possibly explain the expression on his face.
“She’s your daughter, Ethan,” I said. “What are you talking about?”
His eyes widened.
“No. Eloise, no. That isn’t what I mean.”
He sat down quickly, still holding Lily.
“That came out completely wrong.”
“Then explain it.”
He pushed a strand of dark hair away from Lily’s ear.
That was when I finally saw what had startled him.
A tiny pale birthmark.
Triangular.
Barely larger than my fingernail.
“That?” I asked. “It’s just a birthmark.”
Ethan stared at it.
“I had one exactly like that.”
I blinked.
“What?”
