Chase Dubois.
The hallway was quiet afterwards. Publicly screaming at her and saying horrible things to her, wasn't exactly how I thought this would end.
I have Greyson to thank for it.
I sat outside Greyson's room for an hour. Maybe two. I lost track.
The spiders were gone. Four days ago, father had swept them back into the jar—casually, like he was cleaning up after a meal—and left without another word.
Mulan had carried Greyson to bed. He hadn't fought her. He hadn't spoken. He just let himself be carried like he was seven years old again.
I could still hear him crying. Not the screams from before. Those had stopped when the last spider was scraped off his skin.
These were softer. Broken. The kind of sound a person makes when they've given up on being heard.
I remember my hand being so warm from cupping his face days ago.
I left then and I didn't come back till now.
The door opened.
Mulan stood there, her eyes red, her cheeks wet. She didn't look surprised to see me.
