This story may be triggering for readers who are sensitive to pregnancy and loss. People marvel at doctors and compare them to God. She thinks otherwise. Doctors are closer compared to the modern-day executioner. There may not be a guillotine in sight
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Nina, do you remember that summer we spent up north at Loon Lake Resort? You were so little then, all tangled hair and hand-me-down dresses with straps that slid down your shoulders. The trip north was Mom’s idea. It was the
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The rains make it impossible to drive home. She has to leave her car in the Walgreens parking lot and wade the rest of the way to her apartment. Later she hears that someone was washed away when they got out of
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She didn’t like whiskey, but she made herself drink it sometimes. She didn’t like the way it tasted, but she liked the way it made her feel: strong. She liked how the ice in her real glass glass sounded fancy clinking off
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Joe and Audrey reached 57 Oracle Road. A skeletal fist punched through the center of the teardrop-shaped gate, its index finger curling upwards. A jack-o’-lantern filled with orange and black sweets hung from the finger. Above it, a cardboard sign read: Help
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Ever since the night he learned about his father, the light bulb in the center of the ceiling has been staring down into his room, filling it with a vigilant wakefulness, as if God Himself is squinting through a peek hole at
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Momma put a note in the bulletin that we were looking for clothes youth size four for the boy with the split lip who came up out of the French Broad. His skin was green, not golf course green or lawn mower
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Shirley Jackson used to be my best friend but even then I didn’t really like her because she was better than me at everything. She was prettier, for one thing, and even though neither of us wanted a boyfriend she could have
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Polar bears like to go dancing in the shallowest bend of the Biekenfau River. They splash gaily in the rocks. They wave colored flags on wooden sticks. They wear coral tutus and bang on tambourines. The bears come to dance at night
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You were baking shrimp. It was evening in Brooklyn in late October. Yellow leaves were falling off of trees and smacking the bay window. Your mother had just died. Pete was gone, too; had been gone. The oven dinged. You checked your
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