My baby’s tiny fist opened against my gown. I swallowed pain, rage, and the metallic taste of humiliation.

“His name is Owen,” I whispered.

Evan’s chair scraped loudly against the floor. “What did you say?”

Before he could rise, the door opened.

My uncle Simon walked in carrying a paper bag of apple muffins and wearing his old brown coat. He was seventy-two, half deaf, limping from a bad knee, and built like a retired school librarian. To Evan, he looked harmless.

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