If a woman has born a man, she shall be unclean seven days.

12/2/26: I had to wrestle Patricia into isolation again. I’ve never had a senior like her. This is why Gary thinks it’s work causing the miscarriages. The stress and that sometimes it’s physical. My doctor doesn’t seem worried. And I’m not stressed. Gary just doesn’t understand how I can get to know these people yet watch them die. I think if he found someone dead every once in a while, he’d stop building worlds in video games and start helping me build one out here.

Light spotting today.

If a woman has born a man, on the eighth day the flesh of his foreskin shall be circumcised.

12/3/27: Patricia’s son Carter visited. They sat at a table together. She kept asking if he was there to fix her attic fan, then kept trying to take us upstairs. Her husband had been a roofer. I think she sees enough of him in their son to just sense the residue of his memory. Carter used to try at first. He truly did. Now he just swipes through his phone for an hour.

A faint line on the test.  

If she bear a maid child, she shall continue in the blood of her purifying threescore and seven days.

12/5/28: Patricia wailed again at 12:10. Third night in a row. Calling the name Candace. No one knows who that is. Carter said he never heard of her. She wails for a minute, then sleeps. Yesterday, Gary showed me this labyrinth he’d built in Minecraft, all fuzzy blocks and torches that keep going into the earth. Sixty hours of work, he said. It all looks the same to me, every hall, every room. I’d never know we were sinking if he didn’t say so.

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