Chapter 3 - CHILD LOGIC
Leo’s small fingers tugged at the hem of David’s jacket.
He didn't look at Evelyn.
Children like Leo learned quickly that eye contact with an angry adult was an invitation.
"Daddy," Leo whispered into the fabric of the jacket.
David leaned his head down, his ear inches from his son’s trembling lips.
"The box was singing," Leo whimpered softly.
"It was locked in her cabinet, but it was crying."
"We just wanted to give it a blanket so it wouldn't be cold."
David felt a cold blade twist in his chest.
The music box was a mechanical antique—a non-functional heirloom Evelyn kept locked behind glass.
To a six-year-old and a four-year-old, a locked box making faint metallic squeaks was simply a tiny creature in pain.
They hadn't broken the glass to steal.
They had pried the cabinet latch with a plastic toy spoon to comfort it.
Maya pulled her face back from Leo’s shoulder.
Her small plastic bunny—missing one ear—was clutched tightly in her tiny fist.
"I gave it my bunny's ear," Maya hiccuped, pointing a sticky finger toward the floor.
Beside the shattered porcelain lay the broken plastic rabbit ear, placed carefully inside the mechanism.
May you like
Evelyn’s eyes narrowed as she watched the exchange.
"Idiot children," she muttered.
