The smell of eggs and bacon filled the kitchen. The aroma was stronger now that everything was plated and ready. Grease popped quietly in the pan where Grace had left the last strips of bacon cooling on a paper towel. Amber was slicing toast into neat triangles, humming under her breath like she was pretending this was just a normal Saturday morning in some regular house. 

But this wasn’t regular. Not even close. 

I stood by the counter, wiping my hands on a kitchen towel, trying not ...