Now I'm really confuzzled

It doesn't take much, admittedly.

We start off, fifteen years ago, with a story about a brother and a sister he remembers. No names are mentioned, they died with he was still a child and he can barely remember either of them. I let the thing wash over, I let him say his piece, said everything that was appropriate, made empathetic noises. Something didn't ring true but in those days I wasn't too keen on looking too closely.

Reel forward to the present and tonight for only the second time that brother and sister are mentioned. Except now they're, if I'm not misunderstanding him, miscarriages. And he's learned from his mother that there was a third miscarriage which she hadn't previously told anyone about.

These things happen. She's of that generation determined to shoulder everthing while displaying a cast iron upper lip - and never ever talking about it. And if she'd already had two it makes sense that she sought to shield a husband who'd already borne much from yet another loss. And yet, and yet... I do so wish the store he told was at least consistent in its essentials.