to go back eighteen years, because Jake was staring at me waiting for the lie he was so sure was coming, and the truth was worse than anything he’d imagined, and also, somehow, the opposite of what he feared.
Eighteen years ago I was twenty, poor, and in love with a man named Craig whose family had money and a mother named Harriet who looked at me the way you look at something tracked in on a shoe.
I went into labor and delivered two boys.
I remember two cries.
