The morning sun was beginning its ascent into the sky by the time we reached the clinic, casting a dim glow through the clinic’s frosted windows as I stepped into the examination room. Layla followed, cradling her son carefully in her arms. The weight of the situation loomed over us, a palpable tension that we both tried to brush off with forced smiles and polite small talk.
The nurse handed me a cotton swab and explained the procedure. Simple enough. A cheek swab for DNA. I rubbed the cotton against the inside of my cheek and handed it back. Done.
But the real weight of the moment hung suspended, unresolved, like a storm cloud about to burst.
“The doctor will be in to speak with you shortly,” the nurse said tersely, casting Layla and I both a strange glance before she slipped
