I heard the laughter before I saw the blood. It floated from the kitchen—my son’s booming bark, Olivia’s soft answering giggle, David’s smug baritone—slicing straight through the metallic tang in the air and the sight of my wife on the floor with her hand pressed to a bleeding eyebrow. The wine bottle slipped from my fingers, the pastry box hit the rug, and in that instant I understood that whatever was happening in my house had started long before I walked through the doo… Continues…
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