The New Yorker: The Writer's Voice - New Fiction from The New Yorker Folgen

I knew I was acting badly, that I was looking too brazenly and too long, that I shouldn’t have looked at all. I would be ashamed later but I wasn’t ashamed now, I kept watching as the stream weakened and became intermittent, let him know, I said to myself, he already knows, let him see it. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Gertrude holds her belly in skeletal arms. She sinks to her knees before Christina, pulls at Christina’s limp hands. “Please let me keep it,”she begs.“Please, Christina. I know you can intercede with God. Please do this for me.”  Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

What if she’s forgotten what he looks like? What if she’s gone crazy? What if he’s here, lying in one of those cribs, and she sees him every single day without realizing he’s her son? What if it’s been too long? What if memory fails? What if everything fails, and getting through life is simply learning to cope with the failure? No, she scolds herself. Don’t think like that. Don’t let yourself give way. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices