Right after delivery, my husband smirked at the newborn: “We need a DNA test to be sure it’s mine.” I held the baby tightly, tears in my eyes, and whispered, “Fine, let’s do it.” Days later, the doctor stared at the lab results with a pale face and said, “Ma’am, call the police right now.”

scraping raw, and reached out with every ounce of desperate strength I possessed.

My fingers clamped around the molded plastic handle of the first car seat just as it plummeted off the edge. The jolt tore through my shoulder socket, but I held on, pulling the carrier tightly against my chest.

Beside me, Megan had tackled the second carrier, wrapping continue reading …