She moved carefully today.She looked into the bathroom. Standing at the same spot whence shemonitored him when he was in it. What day had it been when...she had firstnoticed her toiletries askew? A Sunday, yes, a Sunday. The smell of rose-scented oil. The embarrassment on the little boy's face in the bathtubwas still vivid in her mind.She walked into her bedroom. His wail still filled her ears. His tearsstill dampened the carpet. The nightlamp still fell in slow motion. Theimage of her young son,. ................................................................................................................................................................................................ "Honey, can you take out the trash? I asked you to do this 2 and a half hours ago!" Ugh. The life I live. The name's Raymond, but you can call me Ray. I'm 26, and the woman you just heard whining about the trash is Hana, my girlfriend of 7 years, and recently turned fiance. She's 25, and we met in. More

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