Miriam glanced quickly towards the front door and I knew then that she was planning her escape.
Not to defend oneself.
Do not clarify.
Escape.
Innocent people often misjudge the distance to the hallway when a four-year-old girl accuses them of putting powder in the baby bottles of her dead grandchildren.
“This is madness! They’re all crazy!” she shouted.
My father-in-law finally spoke, but not to defend me, nor to protect Emma.
The only thing he could say was his wife’s last name, as if trying to wake her from a nightmare that was no longer private.
I took a step forward, touched my wet forehead, and saw blood on my fingers.
The sight of that red brought me such a cold clarity that it almost stabilized me.
My pain no longer mattered in the first place.
Emma was the urgent priority.
The urgent thing was that they didn’t silence her.
The urgent thing was to prevent the family machinery from being activated again to turn the monstrosity into domestic confusion.
—Emma, my love— I said, forcing a steady voice that I didn’t feel—, when did you see that?
