Chapter 6 - The Rosebush Logic
The dining room was submerged in a suffocating silence.
The only sound was the rhythmic drip, drip, drip of the red wine hitting the floorboards.
The father blindly patted the floor, searching for his broken glasses.
The grandmother sat paralyzed, staring at the mud drying on the mother’s back.
Slowly, the little girl stopped crying.
She sniffled, resting her dirty chin heavily on her mother’s shoulder.
Her wide, dark eyes peered over the ruined cream silk.
She looked at the older woman in the green dress.
She looked at the dark red wine soaking into the white tablecloth.
The girl raised one small, dirt-caked finger.
She pointed it at the grandmother.
"Grandma said dirty things belong outside in the bushes," the child whispered.
Her voice was tiny, but it carried perfectly through the dead air of the room.
The grandmother’s breath hitched.
"But now your table is covered in red juice, Grandma."
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The child tilted her head, her brow furrowing in genuine confusion.
"Does that mean you have to go sit in the bushes now too?"
