It had been three days, four hours, and seventeen minutes since Maude had found her daughter Sarah dead in the bathtub.

She hadn’t been counting, not really, but she knew nonetheless.

All things considered, the cleaning crew had done a pretty good job of getting the stains out. At a glance, you’d never know that a sad 15-year-old girl had bled all over the tile and carpeting before laying in the tub and breathing her last.

But on closer inspection, the truth could be seen.

Maude scrubbed the grout, sweating as she erased the evidence of her daughter’s suicide from the room. Blood was difficult to wash out.

Life had been hazy. Memories floated by, of parades and pushing swings, shopping for dresses and hearing her daughter’s first word: “Mommy.” She remembered so many things… Such a sweet girl she’d been.

She paused, wiping the sweat from her forehead with her sleeve.

She sat back and looked at the grout. Checked her fingernails. Picked the blood out.

She felt nothing, and hoped she never would.