June 23, 2002
She could only stare as the jar of jam, jostled by her carelessly flung elbow crashed to the floor, spilling sticky redness to the edge of her feet. In the background, over the blare of the television, she could hear the fighting of her two oldest children. Her toddler, still in his highchair at the table, wailed. The phone started to ring and she closed her eyes, opening them quickly when she envisioned her children laid out on the floor, something sticky and red pouring from their throats. She clutched her stomach where new life grew and thought, not again.