Genes

"How different are we anyway?"

"A lot."

"But how much?"

More than they should be, because that was her son there, across from her with blood on his face, and he had her eyes and her nose, and his father's mouth, but he wasn't like her. He didn't act like her. She saw the hate in his eyes. The blue irises, her irises, dammit. It was like he had stolen them from her. She wanted to hold him. He was his father's son. He had his mouth after all.

"How much?" She said laughing, but not smiling. "Too much."