When I Was Four, My Mother Left Me Alone in a Church—Twenty Years Later She Returned Crying, “We Need You”
My older brother, Leo, was beside him.
Eight years old.
He looked confused.
“Are we coming back?”
I asked.
My mother smiled.
The same soft smile she used when putting me to bed.
“Don’t worry.”
Then she stood.
My father took her hand.
Leo followed.
They walked toward the enormous wooden doors.
I waited for someone to laugh.
For my mother to turn around and say this was some strange game.
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