Violet
Two years ago
I was sitting across from Matthew at the dining table, absently twirling my fork in my pasta. Without thinking too hard about it, I looked up at him and asked.
“Matthew, who is Hades?”
The sound that came out of him wasn’t anything I’d ever heard before. His spoon clattered against the table, and he choked on his food.
“Matthew!” My chair scraped against the floor as I rushed around the table. He was coughing hard, his face pale, eyes wide in a way that made my chest tighten. I quickly grabbed a glass of water and pressed it into his hand. “Here, drink this.”
He snatched it up, gulping it down, his throat bobbing until the coughing finally subsided.
I knelt beside him, my hand rubbing soothing circles along his back. “Are you okay? What was that? I’ve never seen
