Doris

    "You didn't eat that pot of stew I made, did you?" I say.

    I find the pot in the refrigerator, and it's still mostly full. After warming it up, I stand on a chair and spoon-feed my father. He takes the stew willingly enough, but he chews slowly, staring down at me with dark, resentful eyes.

    "No more gravity," he says. Next
 

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