DDEN

Con

he moonlight cuts through the windows in silver slashes, painting his face in shadows and guilt.

un, but my feet stay planted on the cold stone floor. He looks up at

acking like glass. The words hit me like ice water. My son co

els smaller, the walls closing in like a trap. Every plant around us seems to withe

Wine-dark liquid spreads across the stones like spilled blood,

and steel until it sounds like the wail of every mother who ever lost a child to evil. I launch myself at h

ke prayers shouted into a void. My hands leave red marks on h

yes are empty pools reflecting nothing but my own horror. When my strength finally giv

tly, and the words slice through me

not just his features, but his brokenness. We are both victims wearing

ng, my bare feet slapping against marble floors that suddenly feel like ice. The smell of

bed where Majid first touched her wrong dissolves into ash. Photo albums of family vacations melt into t

ricane. She turns to look at me, and her face glows orange in the firelight. There are

spers, spinning in the sm

that show us all smiling lies. I grab her arm to pull her away,

lid. The words spill out of me like blood from a wound that refuses to close. Each letter

e drowning. An

out Raul's confession, about Betty's fire, about the way Aisha looks at walls like they hold secre

ng evidence. My grandmother's knowledge flows through my fingers, ancient wisdom mixed with mode

obe, inspecting his roses like a king surveying his kingdom. He stops b

s I'm planning. And somehow, t

ing my fingers stained with in