On Thursday, the house was full of laughter. Emma and Jake built a fortress of cushions while Helen stirred stew. “Lunch in ten,” she called. “Almost done!”—a clatter, a giggle, the skitter of little feet on tile.
One of her antique vases—the blue one from her late husband—sat too close to the edge. “Careful, love,” she warned, stepping forward. Jake reached to help at the same instant.
The vase fell, shattered, and for a breath everything bright went sharp.
