She looked to her belly and noticed it no longer blocked the sight of her toes. She could tell by her surroundings that she was no longer in a maternity ward and knew, without asking, what had become of Dorothy. “Get him out of here” were her first words. For a moment, neither the priest nor my father knew which of them she meant. “Him,” she said, pointing at the priest. “Get him the fuck out of here.” Dad had never heard her say the word fuck, let alone in the presence of a priest. Mom was so unfailingly polite that you’d think she might consider disrupting her own last rites, even if not
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