MAY 1937

After the abortion, I went to church with her. Or, as she put it, I came to Christ. I still worked at the factory, but I said even less than before. I didn’t talk to anybody at all, even if they spoke to me. It was part of my performance. I didn’t speak. But I thought that Christ might be prepared to speak with me. At least He might express some interest in me. But He didn’t. So I left the church. Or I left Christ. I could never figure out which. And then she left me. My abandonment of Christ was the last straw. I’d chosen to leave He who had made her life possible. This was, for her, the unkindest cut of all.