“She did.”
“And the baby?”
Nadine folded another blanket.
“The child was born with severe problems.”
“What kind?”
Nadine looked at me then. Her eyes were pale blue and cold enough to make the room feel smaller.
“The kind no mother should be asked to bear.”
My daughter kicked again, as if answering her.
Later that evening, I found Quincy in the backyard
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