The New Yorker Fiction: Hell-Heaven, by Jhumpa Kahiri: "It is clear to me now that my mother was in love with him. He wooed her as no other man had, with the innocent affection of a brother-in-law. In my mind, he was just a family member, a cross between an uncle and a much older brother, for in certain respects my parents sheltered and cared for him in much the same way they cared for me. "

I read this piece in the New Yorker yesterday afternoon while I was waiting in the lobby of a law firm (my stepmother had to give a deposition in an ongoing case involving her grandmother's will). It is so good, that I swear I didn't know until I read the heading on the webpage that it is a piece of fiction.