Just like his mother, little Michael despised thunderstorms.On nights like this, he would usually sneak into Liana’s room, tuck himself beneath her heavy blankets, and beg her to tell him nonsensical fairy tales until they both drifted off to sleep.The seven-year-old boy slid off his mattress.He caught a fleeting glimpse of his mother walking down the hall, but his voice was swallowed by the roaring rain. Michael trailed after her, quiet as a shadow, until he came to a halt at the top of the stairs."How could you..."The words echoed with terrifying clarity. He watched, unable to fully comprehend what was unfolding before his eyes.He saw his mother turn to run,
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