My Wife Saw Our Newborn and Screamed, ‘That’s Not My Baby!’

She laughed against my chest, and suddenly we were both laughing—loud, teary, messy laughter that came in waves.

“And it doesn’t matter if it’s a boy or a girl, as long as the baby is happy and healthy,” I added, holding her tighter.

She gave a faint smile.

“Yeah, healthy,” she murmured.

June hesitated—just for a second. I saw it. I didn’t ask. I wish I had.

The day of the delivery crept in like a gathering storm. Her water broke shortly after midnight. Everything became a blur of hospital lights, urgent steps, and flickers of panic.

Before they took her in, nurses explained that the epidural hadn’t worked, and they were moving quickly. It wasn’t the plan, and I hated it. I argued—not loudly, but desperately.

I needed to be with her.

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