Then I stood up, steadied myself, and started planning how to survive the next seventy-two hours.
I woke at five-thirty to the sound of something shattering downstairs.
My heart slammed into my ribs.
I threw on clothes and ran.
The kitchen was a battlefield.
Evan stood in the center, surrounded by broken glass, a milk carton tipped on its side, white liquid pooling across the tile.
Adrian was already there, still in a T-shirt and sweatpants, his expression thunderous.
“I told you to be careful—”
“I didn’t do it on purpose!”
“You never do.”
Evan’s face flushed red. “Maybe if you actually—”
He stopped mid-sentence when he saw me in the doorway.
Adrian turned.
For a moment, no one moved.
Then I stepped inside, grabbed a towel from the counter, and knelt in the milk.
“Everyone step back from the glass,” I said calmly.
Evan stared at me.
Adrian’s jaw tightened.
I soaked up the milk, then carefully picked up the largest shards and set them on the counter.
“Accidents happen,” I said. “No one’s hurt. That’s what matters.”
Evan’s hands were shaking.
I glanced up at him and said quietly, “You okay?”
He nodded, but his eyes were too bright.
Adrian exhaled sharply and turned toward the coffee maker.
I finished cleaning the glass, tossed the towel in the sink, and said, “Who wants pancakes?”
Luke appeared in the doorway, clutching a blanket.
“Me.”
Noah and Caleb followed, both silent, both watching Evan.
I pulled out a mixing bowl and started cracking eggs.
Adrian poured his coffee and left without a word.
