“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Maura,” your mother said. Which was true, you didn’t. On the TV, a woman lifted her baby into the air, maybe so that the camera could see him, but for one absurdist second you thought she might toss him into the crowd. Your mother was quiet for a moment too long and you braced yourself, as you had learned to do against a certain kind of silence. You glanced around the kitchen for the remote, but couldn’t find it. Looking past you, at the screen, your mother murmured, “It’s terrible to have a child.” You raised your hand to your mouth unthinkingly, the
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