I kept starting and stopping.
I was ashamed.
I am ashamed.*
*I am not asking you to raise him.
I am not asking you to forgive me right away.
I am asking you to make sure he is not alone.
Whatever that looks like.
Whatever you can manage.
I know this is not fair.*
*You are the most decent person I have ever known.
That is not a small thing to say.
It is the reason I am asking.*
*I’m sorry.
I am so sorry.*
*— Mark*
—
I folded the letter along its original creases.
My hands were steady by then, which surprised me.
The doctor was watching me carefully.
“Did you know?” I asked.
“He told me there was a child,” he said.
“He didn’t tell me the details.”
“Did he tell you what he was asking me to do?”
“No.”
I looked at the photograph again.
The little boy was sitting on a front step, squinting into the sun.
