Squish, squish, go her shoes as she walks across the hallway. Story always loved how her sneakers sound on the clean floors. Especially wet.

Squish, squish; back and forth. “MOM!” she calls. “Mom, I want juice!”

Silence.

She walks to her mother’s office. Empty. Downstairs (squish squish), to the kitchen, where the window pane sits in quiet pieces on the floor. Story nudges her sleeping mother with her toe, accidentally stepping in the red stuff all around. Nothing.

Her shoes are wet now. Squish, squish, down the hall. “I’m thirsty,” Story whispers, as her shoes squish red across the floor.