IGMS Issue 8 by IGMS Page B

thing.

    The next morning, John sat at the kitchen table with a bowl of soggy cereal in front of him. He had no memory of filling the bowl; he'd done it on autopilot. And he wasn't even hungry.
    Marie entered the kitchen, wearing a sweatshirt and jeans instead of being dressed for work. Dark circles marked her eyes. She'd put her hair up, but had missed a few strands, the way she sometimes did when hurried or distracted.
    Paul was still asleep in his room. When John blinked, he saw himself hitting his son, saw Paul slamming into the doorjamb. The image seemed burned on John's retinas.
    Marie leaned against the counter near the sink, blocking the sunlight slanting in through the kitchen window. "We need to talk."
    He nodded.
    "John, I don't love you anymore. Under the circumstances, I don't think we should remain married."
    "I'm sorry I slapped him. I hate myself for that."
    "It's not about that." She brushed a strand of hair away from her face. "Well, that's a part of it. But this has been a long time coming. You knew that, didn't you?"
    "We've been under a lot of stress. All of us. But we can make it through this. I know we can." The words came automatically. Years of practice.
    "Yes, we can make it through this. But not together. You've changed. You're not the man I married."
    "I want nothing but the best for you and Paul."
    "A divorce is best. For all of us."
    He pushed away the bowl of soggy cereal. "I can't believe you're doing this now, of all times. The novel will be out in two weeks -- my first since Steven's death. Don't you see the significance of that? Eric even thinks it could be bestseller material."
    "Eric's your agent. He gets paid to talk like that. You've said so yourself."
    "All right, yes, I have. The point is that I'm working steadily, and I'm turning out quality stuff. It's been therapeutic for me."
    "You call hiding in your office all day therapeutic? Do you think beating a child is a sign of improved mental health?"
    "I've hit him only once in six years. I don't think I qualify as an abuser."
    "Spankings don't count as hitting?"
    He gritted his teeth and swallowed a reply.
    "Never mind," Marie said. "I've done all I could to keep this marriage working. But I can't do it alone -- and I don't want to try anymore. I'm tapped."
    "Marie, listen to me. Please don't do this. Raising a child with special needs is unbelievably hard, much harder than the parenting magazines want you to believe. But we can't let it destroy our relationship. We can't let it kill something good between us."
    She glared. "You son of a bitch. Even after last night, you still blame Paul."
    "No, that's not --"
    "Yes, you do. Here." She dug in a jeans pocket and removed a folded piece of paper. She opened it, brought it to the table, and dropped it in front of him. "Thought you might want to have this back."
    He recognized the clinic's letterhead. It was the cover sheet of the correspondence he'd received the other day -- the results of the DNA testing.
    "I found it in your pants last night, while I was doing the laundry," she said.
    "This isn't what you think it is."
    "How long have you been talking to Dr. Aiken behind my back? How long did it take you to talk him into doing the comparison?"
    He sighed. "About a year and a half. But --"
    "You're convinced that Paul's damaged. That the cloning process somehow altered his DNA. That the doctors mutated him. Isn't that right?"
    "I was only trying to eliminate certain genetic --"
    She slammed her hand on the table surface.
"You think he's a freak! You think he's a monster! Isn't that right?"
    "No! I --"
    She slapped him. His cheek stung from the blow.
    They stood in tableau for long moments.
    John said, "I love you, Marie. I love what we have. I've never loved anyone or anything more."
    She dropped her gaze. "You love what we
had
. But it's gone. It's over. You're only making this harder."
    "Where will you go?"
    "To my sister's. I've already packed a suitcase for Paul and me. I just have to