Slow Fire Burning

That again. What it always came down to. You couldn’t understand, you’re not a mother. You’ve never experienced love, not really. You don’t have it inside you, whatever it is, the capacity for limitless, unconditional love. The capacity for unbounded hatred, either.

She might have grabbed hold of his hair, pulled his head back, and jammed the piece of glass into his throat.

But now it is too late.

Why must people take what does not belong to them?