Twelve-year-old Lucy was holding her mother’s framed photograph of her body.
Nine-year-old Rachel was staring at the newly covered grave in silence.
April, six, snuggled up against my coat, shaking while holding my hand.
Arthur seemed impassive in the face of everything that happened that day.
His grey suit was spotlessly ironed. Her expensive shoes were clean despite the muddy floor. A luxury watch peeked out on his sleeve.
Then his phone vibrated.
He looked at the screen and a slight smile appeared on his face.
Someone was already waiting for him.
