The flame inside her chest burned cold. She felt it freeze her heart solid, then crack it like ice in a glass. The children cheered. Mike’s corpse applauded with stiff, clapping hands. Sarah toppled sideways, vision tunneling. But the frozen heart kept beating, wrong, slow, like a drum in a haunted parade. The little girl leaned over her, eyes shining. “Good mommy. Now you’ll never leave.” Sarah’s body went numb, yet she could still feel tiny fingers prying her mouth open, threading red ribbon through her teeth like dental floss. The Polaroid on the table now showed the finished family: all six of them, smiling, with Sarah in the middle, eyes black candles forever burning. The flash went off again. Somewhere, a new photo slid into existence.
