“That boy!” William was raving, angry more than sad. You supposed it was just his reaction to the grief— initially anyway.

Recently that anger had bubbled to hatred, as well as blame. William blamed himself- himself for letting Evan near those creations and more prominently; Michael for being irresponsible.

“He’s thirteen” you’d tried to reason, but William had waved you off, ranting about how when he was thirteen he wasn’t trying to murder his younger brother.

“I don’t want that boy in my house.” William had trashed the living room, the lamps on the floor, pillows tossed. Your husband had rather…explosive anger.

“He’s no son of mine- no son of mine kills his brother.”