suffocating. Tom sat on his bed, his back to me, but I could se

finally turned, and his face was streaked with tears, his

e whispered, his voice cho

." I held him tight, my

vulnerability for my tough, athletic

rrible, simple truth. I couldn' t

school, that Tom was unstable and violent just like his "crazy" mother, widened that crack into a chasm. He lost his frie

avier than this one. The note he left was sho

. He had been so calm. "These things happen, Sarah. He was always so

breathing son, and a fierce, protective rage burned away my te

was Kevin. Mark had dropped him off here, telling me he had to go back to the hospit

shed into th

ug look on his face. At his feet was a pile of smo

s born, every woman in the family-aunts, grandmothers, cousins-would contribute a square of fabric from their own clothes, s

scorched, pathetic pile of scraps, a single corner wit

cry. He lunged at Kevi

do?" I screa

nd dirty. I was cleaning up. You sh

w the scene-the smoldering quilt, me holding back a

Mark demanded, his fac

ars of rage and grief streaming down h

cloth on the floor. He glanced at

rembling convincingly. "I found some matches and wa

nstantly. He went to Kevin an

idn' t get hurt." He then turned to me, his face hard again. "Y

ng me. He wa

estroyed, and he was blaming me. He didn

hread of any lingering h

imself out of my grasp and stood tall, facin

ice shaking but clear. Then he looked straight at Mark.

from his own son, in front of his new surrogate

me?" he snarled, ta

dad!" Tom shouted bac

He raised his

ook of fury on Mark' s face, the flas

reacted. I threw my

rce of it sent me stumbling sideways. My

d back, my body a shield be

d Mark' s arms, digging my nails into his expensive shirt, holding him back

s terrifying. But I held on, a cornered animal protecting her y