She didn’t want to hear it. Not tonight. Tomorrow they would deal with glioblastoma. They would discuss and debate round after round of punishing treatment, the possibility of her handsome, kind, loving husband reduced beneath the force of radiation, dulled by medications meant to stop seizures and prevent him from assaulting his children. Tomorrow they would discuss what to do about me, the parasite gathering mass in Margaret’s womb. Tomorrow they would face the thing on the doorstep, demanding to be let in. But not tonight.
