Sublime

Sylvie is married to your father. Alice ran this sentence through her head, but there were too many errors for a copy editor to fix. The structure buckled under its own weight.

The governess appeared, quiet as the grave, as is her wont and her domain, pretending her job is to keep me from dying, when actually it is to keep me from living, at least outside her control. We share the worry that I am secretly a loser, a latent embarrassment, even back in the day when I could still sneeze or cough without tiny bladder control