Chapter 4 - The Pattern
Mark takes three fast steps forward, stepping between his weeping mother and his wife.
His shoes leave light gray smudge marks on the white floorboards.
"Sarah, you hit my mother?" Mark asks, his jaw tight, his shoulders raised.
"She poured a full bottle of cold milk over his head!" Sarah shrieks, her voice cracking under the weight of the room.
"He's ten months old, Mark!"
The baby’s cries turn into weak, shuddering gasps against Sarah's neck.
Mark looks at the high chair.
He looks at the pool of white liquid soaking into the light wood floor.
He looks down at his mother, who is peeking through her fingers, her eye red and tearing.
Sarah waits for him to grab the towel.
She waits for him to scream back at the older woman.
Instead, Mark’s shoulders drop three inches.
A heavy, exhausting breath leaves his mouth, smelling faintly of stale office coffee.
May you like
He rubs his hand over his face, his wedding ring catching the daylight.
He turns around to face his kneeling mother.
