Debi’s mind lurched forward, sputtered, went quiet.

Alma got hold of a fence slat. To pull—pull herself out. Of this. Pain. Something new was happening now. The tightness in her chest was worse. Jesus. Like labor with Paulie. Then it went past that, to labor with Pammy, and she was giving birth to something bigger than Pammy, out her chest.

God oh God.

Pop! is how she would have described it had she still been able to describe.

Pop!

A number of little beings came now. God, get back. You didn’t know whether to pet them or kick them. As they gazed at her intently, she saw they were saying: Careful, girlie, careful.

Then their boss-being came: a man.

Paul Sr.

Looking so handsome.

“Did you finally wake up, dear?” she said. “And love the right person? The one who knew you longest and understood you best?”

Looking at him, she saw the answer was no.

Still no.

The many little beings condensed down into just two. A boy and a girl. Paul tapped them on the head and they turned into babies. Who stood cowering beside Paul. Giving her the stink eye. Like he was guarding them. From what? From her? In a pig’s ass! It was his fault! He never let us be a family!

“Now will you accept me as I am?” Paul said.

What? What a crock! How about you accept me as I am? Treat me nice. Like a wife. A real wife. Is that too much to ask? Forsake all others. Love just me. Will you? Will you?

She saw it was still a no and always would be.

It hurt. So much. Again. Well, if he wanted a fight, she knew how to fight. She liked it. She was good at it. She’d make him pay. The way she always had. You’d think he’d know that by—­

She looked down. Her hands were glowing. Glowing red.

“This has nothing to do with him,” the girl baby said. “How do you want to be?”

How could that baby talk so well? She was like a little genius. In a diaper. And what did she mean? It had everything to do with him. He’d done it all. Turned everything bad. Before Paul had messed with her, she’d been a smiling little dear sniffing lilacs on graduation day, swinging her diploma by one corner. It was Paul. Paul who’d made her hands this way. She went to wipe her eyes and started her hair on fire.

No problem.

Didn’t hurt.

Much.