“Here we go.”
She looked up to see her boyfriend standing beside the sofa with a tray. Her brow furrowed, confused. “What’s that?”
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“Okay, honey, which one do you like best?”
“Umm . . .” her ten year old son waffled.
“You can’t have them all,” she said firmly. She knew what was running through her son’s head.
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She sucked in a breath as a dark shaft of pain stabbed through her back, right between her shoulder blades.
This was impossible.
She couldn’t do it no matter how hard she tried.
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Slamming doors and broken glass.
It could mean only one thing.
Her little munchkins were at it again.
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She felt so bad.
Her head pounded, she ached all over, her stomach churned. She had already thrown up several times.
She was cold. So cold. She couldn’t stop shivering.
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