Sour Candy

“Hello,” he says. I nod, gripping the Zoloft they give me to make me forget. “How is the child?” He holds out the purple bears. “A treat.” I want to hit him. I want to scream and shake him and push him down the steps. I say,

“Thank You,” and take them in my trembling hand.

I lay the purple bodies in rows, flush the Zoloft, and lay in bed remembering an infant smell that has long since dissipated. I breathe in ghosts until morning.

At ten fifteen he’s on the steps.

“Hello,” he says…