Heather's hands flew to the edge of the kitchen door, gripping the frame to steady herself. Her heel throbbed with pain, but there was no time to waste. She needed to pull the glass out before it worsened.
She looked down—and her stomach turned.
The broken piece in her foot wasn't small. It wasn't one of those tiny slivers you'd barely feel. This was large, jagged, thick enough to be seen sticking out.
How?
She took a shaky breath, closing her eyes. She braced herself as her fingers curled around the shard.
Then, with a short gasp, she yanked it free. Blood welled up instantly, warm and sticky, trailing down her heel onto the floor.
Heather hissed through her teeth as she gripped the door tighter to stop herself from collapsing.
It didn't make sense.
She had cleaned that kitchen thoroughly. She had swept every corner, picked up every shard after the bowl shattered. With Alex and Asher running around, she couldn't afford to miss a single piece.
