Bureau de Change
I reread the last letter and put it on the top of the pile. Twenty-two love letters written to my father over thirty years ago by a woman who was not my mother. They started friendly, a bit formal even, in the early days of their illicit relationship. But after he’d fucked her, they were full of her passion for him, then later her worry for the child he’d made her pregnant with, and finally her despair when he abandoned her to stay with my mother. I could see from the dates on the letters this...
Incest