A Cuckoo In The Nest

Patricia was unwell, that was patently obvious. Since the miscarriage of our child she had stayed in our flat in a state of utter despondence, staring with her back to the windows at the bare walls. I tried as best I could to raise her empty spirits but it was of little use. The child we had for so long yearned for, had alluded us once again, with all its concomitant emotional devastation.
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