didn’t know how to fix it.”
Luke began crying again.
“Dad,” he said. “You don’t—you’re not—”
The words failed him.
Mike extended his hand across the table. He covered his son’s hand with his own.
“Can I tell you something?” Mike said.
Luke nodded once.
“The day you were born,” Mike said, “the nurse handed you to me first. Before your mom. Because she was still getting stitched up.” TrackPregnancy
A faint smile appeared.
“You were screaming,” he said. “Bright red. Mad at the whole world. Eight pounds two ounces
