Would the baby growing in Molloy’s stomach turn around some day and resent me for not being man enough to walk away and give him the chance of a decent life? Would I have a son who hated me as much as I hated my old man? Would he resent his mother like I resented mine? Would he fall into the same pattern of addiction that I had? Was I forever destined to repeat the cycle, and then produce more sons to carry on the fucked-up gene?
