Accusing Dario

Clara

The damp scent of the courtyard offered a brief illusion of peace before I rounded the hedge and froze.

Dario was crouching on the paving stones beside my son.

I scrambled down the gravel walkway, batting aside overgrown hydrangea branches. My pulse thudded a frantic warning. What was he doing near my boy?

"Leo," I said, snatching his hand right off the cover of his sketchbook. "Let's go