I guess I never really knew him.
He left after two years, with apologies but no explanations. I didn’t tell him I was pregnant. If he wanted to leave, I didn’t want him to stay.
When he left, the neighbours’ pets stopped disappearing. I didn’t make the connection then.
Four years later. The moon is a fat cyst in the sky, illuminating the mess on the nursery floor. A cat. I think.
“I was so hungry, Mommy,” my son growls.
He has his father’s eyes. They glint yellow from the shadows.
His father’s eyes and, oh God, his father’s teeth.
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