A mom takes her three year old to a swim lesson and comes back to find that her two other children have been fatally stabbed, allegedly by the family nanny. I finish reading the story, then close out of the window and walk away from the computer, hoping it’s that simple to escape. But it’s not. It stays with me for the rest of the night.
And nothing else matters.
I go to bed, but sleep doesn’t come easily. I’m too busy thinking about the Krims.
The next morning on my way to the office, I remember something about the story — something quite inconsequential, but something that gives me pause nonetheless. The second I get in front of my desktop, I check to see if my memory has deceived me.
It has not.
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