The Butcher's Heart, A Boy's Hope

ers with smiles on their faces, their kindness a thin mask for their cruelty. This one, Betty, was new, but he knew the routine. A kind word was just the prel

ments were efficient and no-nonsense, like she had been doing this her whole life. Soon, a warm, savory smell started to fill the cold, sterile kitchen. It was the

of milk, a simple grilled cheese sandwich, and a small bowl of tomato soup. She placed it al

t syrupy sweet like the others. It w

he side. His stomach growled, a loud, embarrassing sound in the quiet kitchen. But the fear was stronger than the hunger. This was a trick. It had to be. If he

movement, he lunged for

arble floor. The bowl of soup skittered across the tiles, leaving a

inst his ribs. He glared at her, his chin trembling, expecti

loor, then back at him. There was no anger

?" she muttered, more

r whatever you are," she said out loud, "what is wrong with this

ed in her head, its tone as

en subjected to systematic physical and psychological abuse for the past two years, orchestrated by Kevin Anders

ch. Two years. The boy was only eight. She looked at him again,

er work, the cleaver on the block, the wrapping of paper, the small talk with customers. But her nights were silent, the house too

ulous story. But all she saw was a hungry kid who needed someone in his corner. She grabbed a cloth and