One was a white man in his early twenties. He carried a .38 revolver. The leader, a hard looking black man, was older and carried a shotgun. Instinct...vely, I moved to protect my wife but was stopped cold when the butt of the shotgun slammed into my stomach. I collapsed onto the floor and groaned in pain, clutching my aching gut. Beth kept screaming until the black man's fist crashing into her mouth sent her spinning. He then bent down to me and said, "Motherfucka, if you try that shit again. ”“How can it be mine? Doc! Are you saying the virus is spontaneously reversing itself?” I demanded of Dr. Simpson.“Kindly refer to our daughter as ‘she’ and not ‘it!’ What kind of father are you going to be?” Elizabeth shouted.“You’re sure it’s a she already? How do you know?” I yelled back.“You wanted a daughter. Of course we’ll have a daughter.” A daughter. That was different than having a baby. Yes, I’d always wanted a little girl. I thought about baby Lily and me being her Uncle Ramsey as. More

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