Unfiltered Story #284772

(I’m doing some chores when my husband steps into the flat holding our then 2-year-old daughter <i>drenched</i> in her own blood. The back of her green t-shirt has a shiny wet streak that’s near black, her hair is a slick, sticky mess, and she is bawling her eyes out, but what really gets me is the unmistakeable reek of blood. There is no need for words: i pick up the car keys and we rush to the nearby A&E. After the scalp wound is glued and our daughter has calmed down, my husband has the time to tell me what went on.
The kid fell in the playground and hit the back of her head against the edge of a concrete step. She started crying immediately. He picked her up and made for home, but in the hall he was stopped by our neighbours, who just had to go on making small talk and cooing over the “pretty baby” right there and then, even though our previous interactions were limited to simple grunts as we went past each other on the stairs! How they managed to stay oblivious of the sight, the sound, <i>and</i> the smell is still beyond us.)