DEVLIN

ONE WEEK AGO

“Our son.”

Maria stares wide-eyed at me as the word drops from her lips with a daring sigh.

Our son.

My first instinct is to laugh, of course. It’s funny. She’s funny. The laugh spills out dry, scrubbing my throat as it does, somewhat reminding me that all I have had all day is two glasses of whiskey.

Maybe three.

Her soft features are tense, pulling tight as she keeps her eyes locked onto me. Intact. Seriously. A shiver runs down my spine.

Maria flails her ...