Author: Karan Kumar

Here is the translation of the story into English, adapted with American names, locations, and cultural context. —”That boy is the grave that Karina dug with her own fingernails.” Nobody spoke. Not Luke, who always had a smart-aleck comment ready. Not my Aunt Ernestina, who lived to ask questions she shouldn’t. And not me, watching…

Here is the translation of the second part and the conclusion of the story, adapted into American English with appropriate names, locations, and cultural context. Part 2 —”Mom had returned with a round belly, painted lips, and the same pink suitcase she had left with.” Beside her was a tall man, wearing pointy leather boots,…

—”Butterfly… who let you out of the hospital?” I don’t know what hurt more: seeing him alive, or hearing that name. Butterfly was a word meant only for our bedroom, for those early mornings, for his hands seeking me beneath the sheets when I still believed that love was a safe place. No one else…

—”Claudia, tell me exactly where you are.” Zaira’s voice had changed completely. She was no longer my friend at a party with music in the background. She was the woman who had seen me claw my way up from nothing when I first arrived in Chicago with a broken suitcase and two changes of clothes….

The first line read: “Consent for cryopreserved embryo transfer.” I didn’t understand. Or I didn’t want to. I kept reading, but the words started scurrying across the page like roaches under a light. My name. Valeria Mendoza. Mauricio’s name. The name of a private fertility clinic in Manhattan. And a date. Six months ago. The…

—”Mr. Torres,” she said in a low voice. “Call the police. This isn’t normal postpartum weakness.” I didn’t understand at first. Or maybe I did understand, but my mind refused to process it. I looked at Valerie on the gurney, her lips cracked, her skin gray, and her wrists marked. Then I looked at Sam,…

…it wasn’t mine. It was a twisted, shaky imitation, as if someone had copied my name over and over until they convinced themselves they could take my place. I stared at the letter, then at Julian, then at Eleanor. She was the first to look away. That’s when I understood that the note hadn’t lied….

It was not a love letter. It was not a promise. It was an agreement. “Private contract for the assignment of parental rights and confidentiality agreement.” I felt the lyrics move for me. Renata looked at me as if she feared that I was going to tear the paper, the table or her. I kept…

On the day of the UPCAT results, I stared at my 98.7th percentile score for a long time. Then, I called my dad and said: “Dad, I didn’t come. I collapsed.” He replied with only four words: “Get out of the house.” I didn’t argue, I didn’t cry. I just picked up my bag and left. A week later,…

—”Lucia…” My daughter… Don’t close your eyes. This time you are not alone. The name struck me inside with a force that came not from memory, but from my own blood. Lucia. I didn’t know who that woman was; I didn’t remember her hug, or her scent, or her laughter, but seeing her crying on…