There's no blood, but Emma has finished her eggs. Most of them found their way to the surrounding areas. "What did you do to her hair?" A large chunk of her hair–by no means all of it–is wrapped around a ponytail on the top of her head. The strands fall limply to one side and pieces stick out in every direction.
"I tied it up," Nate answers, his face proud.
That's going to be hell come bath time.
I grab the sponge and with one crutch finagle my way to the dining room table.
"What are you doing?"
The question catches me off guard. "Wiping down the table." Duh.
Nate steals the sponge from me and waves it around the tabletop, spreading eggs over the surface. "You're supposed to be resting. I'll take care of this."
Eggs fall to the floor and he steps in a clump, smooshing them into the
