Oh, please, please let me sit!" She hastily flung her suit jacket over the back of the chair and sat slowly, with a prolonged wince. "Aaaaah! Oh, god....Don't look under the table, Martha. It's just me, slipping my shoes off." She was a young brunette, about Martha's size and age, her medium-length, black hair combed back in loose, fluffy waves. "And this -- this must be Steven." Ronnie," Martha said, "meet Steven." Steven. Yes." She smiled broadly and shyly. "Yesyesyes." She bent toward me. When will I stop crying? When can I forget how free we were with each other? When can I forget how good it felt, how every day was exciting? How I could forget everything, being with her, loving her…. Now it was quiet. They were all asleep, the babies were in bed. Now she was all alone with the pain. They took my little stuffed kitten, the one I kept hidden from them, the one I held onto to take away the pain. They found it and tore it up in front of me. They sent me to bed that night, after. More

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