Chapter 1 - The Pointing Finger
My fourteen-month-old son ripped the game controller out of my hands, pointed toward the kitchen, and screamed one word that made my wife drop a plate.
“Mommy!”
The plate shattered.
I jumped off the couch.
“Megan?”
For three hours, I had been planted in front of the television, headphones around my neck, trying to beat a level I’d been stuck on all week.
My son, Noah, had been wandering between the living room and kitchen in his tiny bare feet.
I barely noticed.
That hurts to admit now.
I had noticed when he tugged my shorts.
I had noticed when he slapped my knee.
I had noticed when he reached for the controller.
I just hadn’t cared enough to understand what he was trying to tell me.
“Buddy, Daddy’s playing.”
He stared at me.
Big blue eyes.
Serious face.
Then he reached up and grabbed the controller with both hands.
“Hey.”
Noah hugged it against his chest.
I almost laughed.
“You stealing my game now?”
Instead of smiling, he raised one chubby finger.
He pointed toward the kitchen.
“Mommy.”
Behind the island, Megan froze.
Then the plate slipped from her hand.
CRASH.
I stood.
“Megan?”
“I’m fine.”
She said it too fast.
Noah toddled toward her.
I followed.
Megan crouched immediately and started gathering broken ceramic.
“Stop.”
I reached for her wrist.
She jerked away.
That tiny movement felt wrong.
Not irritated.
Not annoyed.
Afraid.
“Megan.”
“I said I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.”
Noah pressed himself against my leg while clutching my controller like evidence.
That was when I noticed Megan’s right hand.
It was shaking.
There was blood on the dish towel wrapped around her palm.
“What happened?”
“Glass.”
“That’s not from this plate.”
She looked at me.
For one second, something cracked behind her eyes.
Then she lowered her voice.
“Daniel, please. Not in front of Noah.”
My stomach tightened.
“What aren’t we saying in front of Noah?”
She stood.
“Nothing.”
She tried walking past me.
Her knees buckled.
I caught her before she hit the floor.
“Megan!”
Noah screamed.
I carried her to a chair while she fought to sit upright.
“I’m okay.”
“You almost passed out.”
“I haven’t eaten much.”
“Since when?”
Silence.
“Megan.”
She looked toward Noah.
Then toward the back door.
“Since your mother started coming over again.”
Everything inside me stopped.
My mother, Linda, had been visiting almost every afternoon while I worked from home.
Or at least, that was what I thought.
“What does my mother have to do with you not eating?”
Megan opened her mouth.
The doorbell rang.
Noah dropped my controller.
Megan went white.
Not nervous.
Not uncomfortable.
Terrified.
Then came three sharp knocks.
A woman’s voice floated through the door.
“Daniel? Open up, sweetheart.”
My mother.
Megan grabbed my arm.
Her nails dug into my skin.
“Please don’t tell her I told you.”
I stared at my wife.
“What did she do?”
May you like
Before Megan could answer, my mother tried the handle.
And discovered the door was unlocked.
