Noah jolted, a sudden, violent convulsion racking his small frame. He gagged. I knew the signs—the poison was rejecting his stomach, but if he vomited loudly, Daniel would know exactly where we were positioned behind the door. Terrified, I forced my own hand over his mouth, weeping silently as my son choked back the fluid, his tears scalding hot against my palms.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” I mouthed into his hair, my heart shattering into a million pieces.
Thud!
