Still Lost
WHEN MY NIECE, AN ACCOUNTANT of some small regard, lost her second pregnancy, her husband, an infrequent employee of a grocery store, claimed that she had aborted the fetus in order to make him look bad to his family. It had been enough, he seethed on private chat rooms, that, before their firstborn arrived, Laris had stopped polishing his shoes and warming his oatmeal. It was worse that with this newer gestation, she refused to continue to acquiescence to his private fetishes. That she miscarried was simply unendurable.
I knew, contrary to that young man’s rants, that my twin’s daughter would have made a murder pact with sadistic fiends or would have vivisected a yak and smoked the ashes of its entrails if either act would have guaranteed her a live baby. Whereas her home was
