Chapter 1 - The Gravity of Orange Juice
The glass didn't shatter.
It rolled.
It left a thick, sticky trail of pulp and neon-orange liquid across the pristine white marble.
Caleb pressed his spine against the kitchen island.
The stone was freezing. His thin shoulder blades dug into the grout lines.
A drop of juice clung to the hem of his blue t-shirt.
He didn’t brush it off. His small fingers were curled so tight his fingernails dug pale half-moons into his palms.
On his left cheek, a swollen red welt pulsed.
The skin there was fever-hot, a harsh, violent crimson painted against his pale, six-year-old face.
He didn't look up. He looked at the puddle.
The puddle was expanding.
It touched the tip of a beige, sequined slide sandal.
The sandal stopped moving.
Caleb’s chest hitched. A wet, ragged inhale rattled in his throat.
"Mommy!"
The word tore out of him, raw and desperate.
May you like
It bounced off the stainless steel coffee maker. It echoed against the high, vaulted ceilings.
---
