Chapter 95

I’m in the conservatory with Liam. Dust motes are floating in the sun’s rays while we sit side by side, both of us with a notebook.

He’s making squiggles on a page, round and round until the pencil pierces through to the next page. “Do you think Mom loves us?” he asks.

“Why do you ask that?” I glance at him and stop drawing. I’m trying to sketch gladiolus flowers from memory but I keep on getting stuck on the intricate detail of the petals. This is my third attempt. I tear the page from the notebook and throw it onto the heap of pages collecting next to me.

“Last night she told me I’m not a good boy after I wet the bed. I can’t help it, Emily. Sometimes, it just comes out,” he grimaces.

“It’s not your fault, you do know that?” I add. “Mom just gets upset really fast.”

“I know, it’s that when she gets like that, I get scared,” he says.

I move closer to him, “Do you know, when I get scared, I just tell myself that soon it will be over. Mom doesn’t stay angry for long. You just have to w