Chapter 2 - The Art of Falling
Footsteps thundered down the hallway.
The heavy thud of work boots against oak planks echoed through the open floor plan.
Ryan burst through the white doorway, his brown canvas jacket still cold from the autumn wind outside.
"Linda, stop!"
The grip on Maya’s hair vanished instantly.
Linda stumbled backward two steps, her heel catching on the hem of her bathrobe.
She clutched her own wrist, her face crumpling into a mask of sudden, fragile horror.
"She tried to push me!"
Linda’s voice cracked, high and trembling, as she reached out to grab Ryan’s sleeve.
Ryan stopped, his chest heaving under his jacket.
He looked down at his mother’s pale, shaking hands wrapping around his forearm.
Then he looked at Maya, who remained sitting on her calves beside the bucket.
Maya raised her head slowly.
The water dripped from her chin onto her collarbone, leaving dark spots on the cotton.
Her eyes, swollen and red, fixed on the man she had married six months ago.
"You saw what she did," Maya said, her voice dry as dead leaves.
Ryan’s jaw tightened.
He did not look at the dirty water splashing across the floorboards.
He did not look at the bruise blooming across Maya’s cheekbone.
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"What did you say to mom?" Ryan asked.
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