KAT
Blood and Earth
The October rain hammers our trailer roof with violence that matches the boys' assault on my internal organs. Five weeks until they arrive according to Holly's latest ultrasound, though the way they're treating my bladder like a speed bag makes me wonder if they have other plans. Dave paces our small living room in Howling Pines, phone pressed to his ear, that particular rigidity in his shoulders that means lawyers are circling like vultures.
"I don't care what the inspector says." His voice carries blessed authority bleeding through frustration. "We have every permit. Every certification. This is targeted harassment."
I shift on the couch, trying to ease pressure where Baby C has apparently decided my sciatic nerve makes an excellent toy. Through our bond, I feel D
