Chapter 3 - The Broken Toy
From the doorway of the adjoining kitchen, five-year-old Leo watched silently.
He wore mismatching socks and held a plastic fireman’s helmet under his arm.
His thumb was pulled tight against his teeth.
He didn't look at his grandmother’s pink robe or his father’s heavy boots.
His eyes stayed on his mother’s soaked hair.
"Daddy," Leo whispered, his voice small against the tall white walls.
Ryan didn't turn around.
"Go to your room, Leo," Ryan barked, his eyes glued to Maya.
Leo didn't move.
He took three tiny steps forward, his rubber-soled socks squeaking faintly.
"Mommy was making the plastic fish swim," Leo said softly, his child-logic reaching for a reason.
"The bucket is for fish, not for Mommy’s head."
Linda’s hand tightened on Ryan’s jacket, her fingers twitching.
"The boy is confused, Ryan," Linda murmured, not looking at the child. "She’s turning him against me."
Maya looked at her son’s small, bare ankles.
A cold rage, quiet and absolute, settled deep inside her chest.
It was heavier than the water in the bucket.
May you like
It was colder than the floor beneath her knees.
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