The couch cushions were stained. Not a little. A lot. Darkened and blotchy. Blankets crumpled on the floor. A bowl of something half-eaten turning crusty on the coffee table.
Behind me, Lily whispered, “Mom?”
Little bits of glass glittered in the carpet.
I swallowed. “Yeah, baby?”
“Why does it look… gross?”
I didn’t answer.
I walked down the hall. Max’s door was open. His bedside lamp was on the floor, the base cracked in half, the bulb shattered.
Little bits of glass glittered in the carpet.
In Lily’s room, her stuffed animals were scattered. Drawers open. Her favorite blanket wadded up near the closet.
“Did we get robbed?”
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