The school called. “Your daughter hasn’t been pick…

hand.

“Let’s go.”

She put her hand in mine.

It was small and warm and trusting.

I walked out of the school holding the hand of a child who should not have existed.

The drive home was almost silent. The wipers kept up their terrible rhythm, and in the rearview mirror I watched her watching the city slide past in wet lights and dark windows.

“Are you hungry?continue reading …