Amelie
I wish I had one murder granted.
I’d mürder my husband.
No, make that two.
How can I forget my father.
I tossed a pair of shoes behind me next.
“O mo thighearna!” Meril exclaimed from the bedroom door. “Dè tha thu a ‘dèanamh?”
Oh my Lord! What are you doing?
I turned to face her as I answered, “Nothing.” As much as I was starting to learn the few words in scottish gaelic, I was still bad at pronouncing the words.
Her still wide eyes took in the room with apprehension as she said, “It doesn’t look like nothing.”
I filled her gaze, noting that the contents of my cupboard was now strewn on the floor and on the bed, not leaving any space to even sit. I walked to a chair near the dressing mirror and picked up the armful of clothes and dumped them on the bed. I gestured at the
