“What the hell is this?”

The husband’s voice echoed in the halls of the hospital. The orderlies winced, but the jaded nurses ignored it.

A woman’s sobs followed his outburst.

“Sir. Sir, please calm down.”

“Calm down? Listen, you sonuvabitch, don’t tell me to what to do. Look at that baby!”

The receptionist pursed her lips, disapproving of the noise. It was unseemly. She took hold of the rotary dial, fingers prepared to call the police.

“Sir, you need to stop making a scene.”

“Where’s my son?!”

“But . . . this is your son. I’m sorry if you’re unhappy, but—”

A loud crash from the room. A few people, sweating in the waiting room, glared in the direction of the racket.

“No it damn well is not!”

His wife, still crying, looked down at the baby in her arms. He had her eyes—and his grandfather’s mahogany skin.

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