Grandma stood in the kitchen making soup, and tears kept falling into the pot.
My mother went into the bathroom to wash her hands. She scrubbed at the dried blood over and over until her skin turned red.
I hovered beside her and whispered, "Mom, it's clean now. You can stop..."
But she could not hear me.
She walked into the living room and straightened the little cushion I always kept on the sofa. It had a rabbit printed on it, and it was my favorite.
Grandma came over with the soup. "Chloe, at least have some broth."
My mother shook her head and turned into my room.
She looked at my backpack for a very long time before she finally opened it and started taking things out one by one.
With every item she touched, her fingers trembled a little harder.
Then she picked up the thirty do
