Chapter 4 - Child Logic and Paper Wings
Ethan froze.
The air in the hallway seemed to drop ten degrees in an instant.
He looked down at his daughter’s small face, her brown eyes round, clear, and unblinking despite the tears.
"What did you say, Maya?"
"The lady put Mommy's letters in the dark box," Maya murmured, her small thumb reaching up to touch the silver thread on Barnaby’s ear.
"She said Mommy went to sleep because she was bad."
Clara’s face went completely grey—the shade of old newspaper left out in the rain.
She scrambled to her knees on the wooden floor, her manicured nails digging into the rugs as she lunged forward.
"Ethan, no! Don't listen to her!" Clara shrieked, her voice cracking into a high, hysterical register.
"She’s sixteen months old! She doesn't know what she's saying! She makes things up!"
Ethan didn't answer her.
He turned his back on Clara, stepping over the shattered glass with deliberate, heavy strides.
He stopped directly in front of the tall oak cabinet.
The bottom drawer had a small brass keyhole that had been painted over in flat black paint three years ago—the day his wife died in the hospital.
Maya reached out, her little hand touching the cold wood of the cabinet door.
"Mommy's bird papers," Maya said softly, using her own toddler language for her mother’s handwriting.
May you like
"They're crying inside the wood."
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