My 6-year-old granddaughter phoned me in panic just after midnight. “Mommy says the baby is coming! Help!” I asked, “Where’s daddy?” She answered, “He k!cked mommy’s tummy and left.”…..

The word was quiet, but it carried the weight of decades spent giving orders that kept men alive. The nurse studied his face, then Lydia clinging to him, before nodding once.

“Follow me.”

Dr. Martinez was a small woman with exhausted eyes and surgical gloves already covering her hands. She quickly took in Harry’s work boots, faded jeans, weathered face, and the frightened child in his arms. Her expression softened only slightly.

“You’re the father?”

“I am. How bad is it?”