Chapter 3 - The Weight of the Bruises
The second the chain was gone and the tray was kicked away, little Leo let out a heartbreaking, desperate sob. He lunged forward, throwing his small arms tightly around his mother’s neck, burying his tear-stained face into the soft fabric of her fitted beige coat. His tiny fingers clutched the lapels of her coat with a desperate, white-knuckled grip, his whole body shivering uncontrollably against her chest.
"Mommy... Mommy..." he whimpered, his small chest heaving against hers.
Emily wrapped both arms around her child, pulling him flush against her ribcage, cradling the back of his head with her right hand while her left hand pressed against his small back. Tears of pure, hot agony welled in her eyes as she felt the rapid, erratic fluttering of his little heart against her chest.
Behind them near the dining table, Diane slowly regained her balance. She pushed herself up from the edge of the mahogany wood, adjusting her posture, smoothing down the front of her cream buttoned cardigan with slow, deliberate fingers. Her face showed no remorse, no guilt, and no shame. Her pearl earrings caught the bright afternoon sunlight as her eyes narrowed into two dark slits of cold, unyielding hatred aimed directly at Emily’s back.
Emily slowly shifted her weight on the tile floor, adjusting Leo in her arms so she could lift him up. As she shifted his small body, the sleeve of his light blue t-shirt rode up past his shoulder, and the leg of his gray cotton shorts pulled back above his knee.
The bright, natural sunlight pouring through the kitchen window illuminated every inch of his fair skin.
Emily’s breath hitched violently in her throat.
Across his tiny forearms were thick, dark red and purple contusions—finger-shaped grip marks where someone had squeezed his soft skin with crushing, malicious force. Across his knees and shins were long, deep yellow-green bruises and scraped skin, consistent with being forced onto hard surfaces for extended periods. And directly beneath the spot where he had been sitting, the floor was still dusted with the oily residue of the scattered dog kibble.
Emily’s blood turned to liquid ice, then instantly erupted into a blinding flame of unadulterated rage.
She stood up slowly from the floor, lifting the three-year-old child completely into her arms, supporting his hip with one arm while shielding his face against her neck with her other hand. She could feel every shuddering breath he took.
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She slowly turned her entire body around to face Diane.
"He’s only four years old, you cruel woman!" Emily said, her voice shaking violently with a mixture of profound grief and white-hot fury, her eyes locked directly onto her mother-in-law’s calm face.
