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Some parent heard the commotion and came out into the hallway.
“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave, or I’ll call security.” The male nurse looked nervous.
I crossed my arms, letting him know without words that I wouldn’t be going anywhere.
“Call them,” I suggested. “And while you’re at it, call every single supervisor above you, and them, until we get to the head of the hospital. Because I’m not leaving until you’re fired, and we find out how many other babies you’ve switched at birth.”
“What?” I heard the parent behind me say. “You think he switched a baby?”
“I do,” I said. “Because I walked up to find a baby in the bassinet of my son, that’s most definitely not my son. My son has a birthmark on his neck. And this one, though similar to my own, is definitely not my son. And doesn’t have that birthmark. Correct me if I’m wrong, but those don’t just disappear out of the blue in an hour.”
The nurse’s expression, the female one at least, had a look of absolute horror on her face, as if shit was dawning on her that definitely shouldn’t be.
“Oh, shit,” I heard another parent say. “Oh, fuck.”
“This baby I’m holding right now has a birthmark on his neck,” I heard another say. “Oh, God. How did I not know?”
I whipped around, not expecting to find a parent there holding a child that was mine.
I knew that baby was mine based solely on the fact that I could see the birthmark from here.
“He’s mine,” I said.
He walked over to me and placed the baby in my arms.
That’s about the time the male nurse chose to take off.
“Oh, fuckin’ no you aren’t.” I heard an outraged woman’s voice.
I turned just in time to see a woman wearing a hospital gown heading down the hall as fast as her nonslip socks could take her.
She was on the man in about half a second flat, and before the male nurse could brace or prepare for impact, the mom was tackling him as if he was a running back going for the winning touchdown.
“My wife is an Olympic sprinter,” the man who’d just given me my baby said. “I thought he looked a little too white, too. But I wasn’t here for the birth. I was in Columbia for a photo shoot.”
I looked down at my son, then looked toward the one that they’d tried to pass off as my son.
The one in the bassinet definitely had more of an olive-toned complexion, denoting him of mixed race.
“He’s cute,” I said, “but yeah, definitely looks more yours than mine.”
Seeing as both Danyetta and I were both pale in complexion, with barely any melanin in our skin whatsoever.
That’s when Danyetta walked into the hallway, looking around warily.
She saw the male nurse on the floor that’d been tackled, then saw the woman sitting on him.
Danyetta’s eyes met mine, and she raised her brows as if I had the answers.
I did, and that felt good that she believed in me.
She walked over with a frown and said, “What the heck happened?”
That’s when I saw her lose control.
• • •
The only problem was, there was no way to tell which kids he’d switched.
