In the delivery room, Emma and I welcomed our daughter with joy, but Emma’s shock—“This isn’t my baby!”—sparked panic. Despite her doubts, holding our daughter eased her fears. Days later, Emma requested a DNA test for clarity.
The results revealed African ancestry, surprising her. I reassured her that our daughter was ours, no matter what. As our daughter grew, we embraced her heritage, teaching her about her roots. When she asked about her skin color, Emma shared her history with pride.
That night, watching her sleep, Emma thanked me for reminding her that love defines family, not appearances. I knew I’d always stand by them.