I tried to stop her.”
But Caleb wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at me—at the broken ceramic around me, at the blood dripping onto the tile, at Diane still standing with her hand half-raised from the shove. He crossed the kitchen in two quick steps and dropped beside me.
“Megan, stay still,” he said, his voice shaking. “I’m calling 911.”
Diane snapped continue reading …
