Donald drummed his fingers against the steering wheel of his Ford Focus, his eyes fixed on the school entrance.
Any minute now, those doors would fly open and hundreds of happy kids would stream out, overjoyed at their freedom. Then he would see his Suzie emerge, alone and despondent from the challenges she’d had to cope with today.
His stomach cramped as if someone had pushed their hand inside him, wrapped their fingers around his intestines and then squeezed.
Fingers. Everything was about fingers. Ever since that day three months ago.
