11
The kitchen was bright and warm. Children’s drawings were stuck all over the double-door fridge. Pasta bubbled in a large pot. The boys’ laughter drifted down from deep inside the house; the TV blared in the lounge. Laughter came from the bathroom where the boys enjoyed their bath time. The only child that I’d ever seen Steven play with was Justin. The two boys had a special bond that was rare among most siblings.
Footsteps tapped on the tiles, coming towards me. I held my breath and waited. Tanya emerged out of the darkness of the passage.
“Good, you’re here.” The smile on her lips didn’t reach her eyes. It never did these days. Our father’s death had affected her more than she would admit.
“Would you mind making something to go with the spaghetti?”
“Are you sure?” I asked. Surely
