923
1937
Sugar ignored the knocking and pulled the covers tighter. Tears dripped down her cheek. “God, why must I tell them I ‘lost’ my baby when you know he killed him,” she prayed. “Please, please, bring my baby – one I can love and he won’t kill.”
Sugar could hear the survivors’ wails drifting up from the village the Japanese had bombed the day before.
The bright smoky haze blinded her when she opened the door. A woman stepped forward, handed Sugar a quilt, shouting repetitively in Chinese, “Your baby now!” Sugar looked at the quilt, recognized it and gasped in horror.