The five babies in the cribs were Black. My husband looked at them once and shouted-NANA

It was not confusion.

It was rejection.

And that difference would stay with me longer than anything else that followed in the years ahead of my life.

The first months were a blur of feeding schedules, crying at all hours, and learning how to divide myself into five pieces without losing what remained of me.

Neighbors helped sometimes, bringing food or offering to watch one baby while I bathed another, but their kindness always carried a question they never asked aloud.

I saw it in their eyes when they thought I was not looking, that silent doubt that clung to me like a shadow.