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I was made for him.
Especially since she sleeps alone more nights than not. Her husband has important work and it never ends.
that's weird
Sophia is not allowed down into the cellar. It’s dangerous, he tells her.
ummmm
she will eat a little spot of lunch, though a very little spot.
poor Sophia
He’s warned her that heavy lunches make heavy hips, and Sophia wishes always to be his light.
oh.
Her husband laughs at the care she takes with such things. Such a silly little head my Sophie has on her shoulders.
I would bitch slap him
A hairbrush she has never seen before. And beside it, a lock of hair.
ewwwww lice
“Old Mrs. Elke and Mrs. Hounde down at the farmer’s market? With those waistlines?”
the shade
Mr. Semengelof
HAHAHAHHAHHAHHAHHAHA
Sophia cannot help knowing what she knows. She is standing in her beautiful open floor-plan kitchen in her perfect sprawling house holding the tip of a human finger.
And a tooth. A thighbone. A cracked vertebra. A kneecap. A desiccated lung retrieved from the dirt under the hedges bordering Mrs. Lyon’s property. More teeth. Five or six of them still stuck in a lonely jawbone. A severed lip she thought at first was a scrap of beef fat fallen between the stove and the butcher’s block.
what is wrong with your husband??
“Are you happy, Sophia?” “NO,”
ooop.
