“We can’t keep a fallout baby… we can’t. It could kill us”.

“We can’t kill it… it’s sick… I’d feel sick”.

Tara spent the meeting hiding in a room hoarded with furniture, curled under a table, listening through a hospital curtain. She would let it be, wouldn’t interfere, wouldn’t even look at her child. Those strangers; pressed against cabinets, leaning on windowsills, unable to even cross a room without uncomfortable maneuvers; they would commit.


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