Charlotte

“Avec la prononciation française,” she insisted. I kept it to myself that I thought of the book with the spider and the pig.

The doctor touched my cheek with the love of a mother, and said she was off to sleep. Every night she said this, but her eyes watched me as I climbed out of bed, stripped, and went to wash up.

One day, as I stood in the bare skin that God created, she asked frankly: < Have you thought of doing it with me? >

I glanced at the woman laying her fully clothed body on the new sheets that Selene left behind, and was fascinated by an averted gaze, a face unadorned by spectacles nor spectacle. < A little. > A small admission gave way to confession. < A lot. >

< That makes me happy. > She flashed a smile void of sarcasm, got up, put on her coat and glasses, went out the door without another word.