Eyes vacantly lost in memory, Julio stared at the ceiling of his humble bed…his lonely bed. Silently he chastised himself for the errant thought that had crept in to rejoinder the thought of his lonely bed.

He would not be enticed back to that passionate bed of lunacy. If he had his way, he’d never enter that house again. The role of Joseph to Potiphar’s wife bore no hold over him now. If he had his way he’d be far away from this place.

This would not be the first harried exodus for Julio. No, this would once again be the least distasteful of available option. Any given man might want to stay and fight the good fight. Any given man might fail to do so.

There was no fight here; this family was lost. A father who skulked about his own home on the rare occasions when he was home. A mother as mad as she was enticing. A child more afraid of her own home than the world at large.

Sleep had its way with Julio, and dreams of the past collided with fears of the present. All in all, not a good night.