I locked my wife in the pantry under the stairs

tears, my mother didn’t look weak.

She looked cruel.

I bent down and went inside.

It was a narrow passage, sloping down toward the oldest part of the basement. On the floor lay a faded baby blanket, with a name stitched onto it.

Andrew.

My name.

I picked it up, and my hands began to shake.

From the darkness, I heard Emily’s voice.

She wasn’t calling me.

She continue reading …