ENEATH T

y's

teeth chattering in winter. He doesn't look up from his newspaper. The headlines scream abou

ne shoulder. She doesn't fix it. Her eyes find mine across the mahogany table. Those green eye

morning light streaming through our stained-glass windows. Everyth

ty's voice drips honey.

nd satisfied. Like a cat who's caught more

annot. They say: You knew. You've always known. They say: W

ee years of marriage. Twenty-three years of looking the other way. Twent

es a sip of juice. Normal sounds. Normal morning. Nothing

. And now I know

th the loose floorboard under the antique writing desk. Grandmother's desk. Sh

embles as

s lower back during family photo. Las

e garden maze. Wouldn't say why. Dirt o

etty through the library windo

children's souls. One date at a time. One violation at a time. The evidenc

Everything in this house is expensive. Even the paper I use to

s I'm keeping track. She knows I'm watching. But watching isn't protect

the page like a wound. Like tears. Like all the b

hallway. Heavy and mas

he journ

is thick. Imported from somewhere exotic. Like everything else he touches. He pr

isfied. The voice he uses when he's drunk on power. When

me, Malcolm. All of them. Even

terson. His business partner. The man w

h. Never too much. Too much, and they shatter compl

. The taste of my own blood fills my mou

them all, ev

children. My chil

ow what normal feels like. Before they understand that fa

air. I can picture him there. Feet up on his mahogany desk.

tually begs for it now. Can you imagine?

The hallway spins like a carnival ride. The portraits of dea

d eyes judge

hen floor. Still in yesterday's clothes. The journal l

erfectly calm. No shock. No horror. No surprise. She reads abou

precision. She's always been the smartest

pers. Her voice could f

like I'm infected. Like my touch mi

ng to fix this. I'm g

ur marble countertops. Cold and ho

s broken. This isn't broken. This

piles. Perfect corners. Everything in

t victims, Mother. We're products. Manufact

ing. Or maybe it ju

t us. And now we're exactly

inkle gone. Every hair in place. Perfect little dol

ft is: what are you g

rd the door,st

ne pretending thi