The Magic Words

My hands and underarms grew clammy with fevered regret as I doubled over in the simple but cushy chair, head down and fingers interlocked as though in prayer. Then, the grey-haired, bifocaled man uttered the magic words that would grip my body and make it convulse wildly in a fit of rapture: “You are NOT the father!”

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My last thought before stepping into oncoming traffic was relief that the insidious whispering would finally cease… Do not believe what is said about “the silence of the grave.”

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