~Grace~
"You have got to be kidding me," I hiss, staring down at the smear of mustard-yellow now decorating the sleeve of my dress.
I look at Bruno who is already staring at me. His face burning red with both anger and rage is.
The toddler looks at the ceiling, screaming his lungs out as if he's the one who just had his dignity dismantled.
We move like a panicked, three-headed monster toward the bathroom. Bruno holding the child at arm's length, walking with his legs bowed out to avoid any further 'leakage' touching his trousers. I'm trailing behind, trying to keep my sleeve from touching my hip.
We burst into the high-end, marble-tiled restroom in a suite, just at the first stop of the elevator and Bruno slams the door shut with his foot.
The room is silent, save for the kid's rhythmic sobbing and the steady drip-drop of curdled milk hitting the floor. Bruno marches over to the long vanity and drops the boy at the bathtub, then immediately takes off his entire shirt.
