The sad fact is that Wicker has been forced to be with many women, but this is the first time it’s created something. And though I mean the words, it still sits heavily in my chest, because the two of us have this in common. For a while there, this baby had been a wound for me, too. Painful, festering. The product of abuse. Evidence of hurt. I can’t heal Wicker. Neither can his brothers or our son. But maybe I can give him a place to start.
