Chapter Eight. Davina.
“Max, it is okay, I am fine,” I say to my son as he glares at his father. Mars, what the hell type of hippy name is that?!
My little boy begins this growling thing he started doing about a year ago when he is really angry, and I hunch down and lift him into my arms.
“Stop that please Max. I know you are upset and angry but take a breath. You will hurt your throat,” I gently tell him, not for the first time in his life.
“It is okay Max, I would never hurt your mammy, or you,” Mars’s soft Irish accent attempts to sooth our son.
“Thrax doesn’t like it when you argue with our mammy, ” Max fixes his stare on Mars, the growl getting a little louder.
Oh hell, his father is going to think I am a bad mother, our son talking about his imaginary dog friend, and grow
