scarred

I didn’t see the blood, not at first. I saw the small silver bowl, wheeling through the air, a trajectory it shouldn’t have been taking. I heard the thwack as it hit my two year old’s head, followed by a piercing cry. She was on my lap already, facing away, our posture didn’t have to change for me to start the act of comforting her. It was twenty seconds, thirty seconds before I felt the stickiness between my fingers, before I finally turned her round. And then I saw red. I saw it everywhere.

You can read the rest of this post here, at Brain, Child Magazine.

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