brain. "No," she said. "no."
"I'm sorry. Mommy. I'm sorry."
She pushed herself up and looked down at me,
her mouth twisting with the pain and the agony
moving like a corkscrew through her brain and into
her heart.
"No. Grace, you must have imagined it. You
can't be pregnant. He's been gone for nearly five
months now."
"I'm starting to show, Mommy. That's why I'm
wearing these loose dresses all the time."
She stared, the reality settling in with the
weight and the chill of fresh cement.
'You've known and kept it secret all this time?" "I'm sorry, Mommy."
"Stand up," she ordered. and I did so. She came
to me and ran her hands over my hips and my stomach
to make the dress tighter. My bulge was clearly
evident. "Oh. my God." she said, stepping back as if I
was contagious. "You are pregnant, aren't you? He did
this. He did this!".
She pressed her hands to her temples and
grimaced with the pain, pushing so hard her face was
red, her eyes bulged. Then she tore at her own hair for
a moment, tugging it before releasing herself and
reaching for a dish on the table. She heaved it across
the small kitchen, and it smashed and splattered
against the wall.
"Are you telling me that you're more than seven
months pregnant?"
I barely had the strength to nod. but I did. "Why didn't you tell me months and months