My Final Gift In A Box

The lab results were crumpled behind my back, the sharp edges of the paper digging into my palm until it pulsed with a dull ache.

Under the flickering glow of the dining room chandelier, I watched my son. He was picking at his dinner with a cold, practiced indifference that mirrored his father’s. I couldn’t help myself; the secret in my hand was too heavy. I asked him, my voice barely a whisper, if he’d ever wanted a little sister.

He paused, his fork hovering mid-air. His lashes cast long, dark shadows over his cheekbones. Without looking up, he shook his head.