Chapter Seven Two weeks after that fateful night, at five to three in the morning, Eva felt with her key for the keyhole. She closed the door behind her, quietly kicked off her shoes, and ran up the stairs. She sat gently on the edge of Abby’s bed and kissed her sleeping daughter’s forehead. She repeated the little ritual with… Read more →
Chapter Five For a whole week, Eva didn’t speak to her husband. She knew she had to apologize, but she couldn’t admit, not even to herself, that he was right. If he was right, then what would happen to her children? Every night she crawled into bed making excuses for herself why she shouldn’t wake him up. But she knew.… Read more →
Chapter Three The next evening, a resolute Eva walked into the kitchen. She was going to be a proper mom, worthy of the role given to her. She would make French fries for the children, no ketchup since Ben stopped eating tomatoes and she and the children would sit down and eat dinner together. And by the time Adam came home… Read more →
Chapter One The giant Erlenmeyer flask slipped out of Eva’s hand and crashed to the floor. Eva listened to the thunder-like crash and to a gallon of liquid splash the lab floor. Almost immediately, acetone vapor hit her nose. Eva held her breath, knowing what this much of her favorite organic solvent could do to her, but her head was… Read more →
That morning, when I woke up, I didn’t know that by afternoon I will break my heart. After my shower, I toasted myself half a bagel, spread cream cheese, and poured my coffee down the drain because there was no milk. At half past eight I got to my office and began my meetings. They were all exactly the… Read more →
That Wednesday morning, when the prize stood on seven million, Mr. Ozery left home thinking about Arthur Schopenhauer. Why did he hate humanity so? he wondered. He had everything he needed, shelter over his head, quill and paper, his eyes to see, even a god position at the university. It is a blessing that I am not like him, concluded… Read more →
“Come,” she whispered to me, after grandma tucked me in, turned out the light and went to watch TV. A Car passed, and thin strips of light came in through the slats and climbed the wall, stretching to the ceiling, disappearing behind the bookcase. I didn’t answer. Don’t talk to her, I kept telling myself. Don’t ever talk to her.… Read more →
