Nils was sitting up in bed. His eyes were wide as he looked towards the doorway, staring at her. He was holding out his arms, like a little Christ figure on the cross. Sanna felt the shock descend on her like a punch in the stomach. She saw her son’s trembling, splayed fingers, his chest, his teddy-bear pyjamas, which he loved. By now she had washed them so many times that they were beginning to fray at the wrists. She saw the red. Her brain was hardly able to take in the scene. Then she raised her eyes to the opposite wall and a scream rose up inside of her, reaching her throat and then bursting out of her.