It’s Hiroshima Day again. Iris is twenty-one years old.

In his office, my file was already on his desk. He sighed and gave me the bad news.

“I’m afraid this was a positive test,” he said. A clever circumlocution which neatly avoids any reference to the patient. The test is positive, not you. A kind conceit.

I don’t recall what I thought at that moment, but as my heart leapt into my throat I suspect I knew one thing: everything had changed. Forever.