The Slowest Count
Indistinguishable thumping followed by crashing noises and wood splintering interrupted my nightly ritual of washing and drying dinner dishes. I dropped the tea towel, flew down the hall and up the stairs. The noise stopped. I stopped too, with my hand on the doorknob to my youngest son’s room, Schrodinger’s cat heavy in my mind, knowing that this was a box I had to open, but it could change everything.