ling home was the loudes

s axis. Six months since my son, once a chatterbox of laughter and light, had been left with a profoun

n. Andrew, my husband, was the picture of doting concern. He was always there with a

e kitchen, a low murmur drifted from Andrew's home office. The door was slightly ajar. I rec

itch the epi-pen in the emergency kit with a usel

oice was strained,

g it just to get Jennifer' s kidn

ng slipped from my grasp and shattered on the hardwood floor. The sound was

ade of ice, sharp and ut

ch. I can' t give Sabrina my name, but I can ensure her son, Caleb, is the undisputed heir to th

re a horrifying, perfect explanation for the nightmare my life had become. My son wasn't

rp, searing pain shot up my leg, but it was nothing compared to the agon

efore they found me. Before An

bedroom, leaving a faint trail of blood on the polished floor. I slid under the covers, my

ed to murder our son and had me carv