Snake

Lying here, staring into the dark, I think it again. It would have been better if he'd been sexist or vulgar. We'd have kicked him out, then.

If we had, maybe we'd still be whole.

Is anyone these days so unlucky? To have two children die in a single year. I know some people are in a terrible accident or a fire or something... But one to die, thrown from a pony, and the other in his cot?

I can't prove anything. Can't prove he did it. But we were fine before he turned up, weren't we? And now look - daughter, dead. Baby, dead. Husband, left. The house feels heavy with all the people who should be here. The memories echo harsh and brittle.

Maybe I should leave. Pack up my things, pack up the kids. Get us moved out. Moved on.

I can't. Not just because I think they'd refuse, either. I just... Can't. I can't face it.

Can't stand to stay here. Where such awful things happened. Can't bear to leave. 

I could cry, but I won't.

My eyes adjust to the inky blackness, and I make out the shape of him. The planes of his face, the way his hair falls across my husband's pillow.

I told them. I told my children to go. They said No. It would be better for you, I said. You'll be happier. They just looked at me.

I think they thought something might Happen if they left. Happen with a capital H. That I might do something... stupid.

Or... Maybe they suspected Isaiah as well. Thought he might start hurting me, or worse, if they weren't here.

How could he hurt me worse, though?

Night after night, I see them both. My surviving children. Whether I'm awake or asleep, I see them: too pale, too still. Limbs or necks at odd angles. Blood seeping, eyes glassy. It would happen. If they wouldn't leave, go and stay with their father, where they'd be safer.

It's chilly here in bed. Next to a snake.

The chill radiates off him. I almost want to touch him, to confirm he's gone cold.

We really do have to leave.

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