If it weren't for all the crying, this whole thing would be fuckin' hilarious. "Sprinkles was bad. Daddy was protectin' us, okay?" I say, turning them both so they can see him, "See? Daddy's hurt. It's time to stop cryin'."

They're still sniffling, worried now about the blood and still not entirely convinced that it wasn't Mike's fault, somehow.

"Close the window, we'll get you cleaned up."