Samantha always knew the exact location of the door. She knew the ways to exit any room. She knew when to run, when to hide, when to agree, when to be silent. These lessons were her mother’s gifts.
His rampages were a time for silence.
She did not flinch as bits of smashed vase skittered across the kitchen floor. The vase was her mother’s. A shard came to rest against her toe.
She looked up at him, angry in the kitchen doorway.
Samantha always knew the exact location of the door.
She also knew the exact location of the icepick.