Alicia Gifford

The procedure is an easy fifteen minutes. With it goes the nausea. To celebrate, she picks up an icy bottle of Veuve Clicquot and a one-pound box of Godiva truffles. As she walks up to her front door she spies a tiny hatchling, pushed out from its nest. She sets her goodies down and fetches a teaspoon to dig a tiny grave and buries it, choosing a small, smooth stone for its marker. She weeps for days.