Ava released her grip on Sophia's hair and calmly patted her hands clean.
She walked over to the sink, turned on the faucet, and began washing.
Pump. Scrub. Rinse. Repeat.
She washed three times—and still felt dirty.
Only now did she understand why Liam had once washed his hands over and over again after hitting Sophia.
That psychological stickiness—like you'd accidentally brushed up against moss in a damp basement.
Or touched a toad.
It wasn't something you could scrub off with soap.
Ava washed her hands a full five times before she felt marginally better.
Mary quickly pulled out some paper towels and handed them over while muttering, "Oh, my Lord. My heart was in my throat the whole time! I kept thinking she might try to push you again. You're pregnant now, Ava—you really have to be more careful."
Ava accepted the towel, dried her hands, then balled it up and tossed it in the trash.
