6
“What happened to your arm, Dear?”
I wasn't expecting this question. I'd just entered the Sun Room. Rain streaked the glass ceiling and three glass walls, but the quiet indicated the rain had just stopped. Breakfast had been nicely laid out for us. Father, Mother, and I had a tradition of breaking the sleeping fast and discussing the day ahead of us, every morning.
Mother was the only one present. She stood at the foot of the table, as far from the glass walls as she could. She looked as if she wanted to shrink into herself.
Why I hadn't anticipated questions about the bandage covering my arm from wrist to bicep, I can't say. Further, I'd welcomed questions in the past. Now, I objected to the intrusion.
Mother rose from the table and stepped toward me, her brows drawn together.
“I
