When I interviewed the French author Anne Berest some weeks ago I told her I did not have one child, but two; one was gone. “Why are you sorry,” she said, looking directly at me. “But I breastfed her.”I try to reorient myself walking each morning. The adults were loath to turn back to the apartment, basking in company long denied. The light is soft, it is beautiful here, there is a breeze.

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Persons: Anne Berest, I’m, ”, Orli, Hana Locations: Paris