The dining room door stood open. Sunlight streamed through the windows. But something glittered on the hardwood floor. My heart stopped when I saw it.
Crystal shards covered the ground like fallen stars. My mother’s precious glass set lay in ruins. Each piece told a story of violence, hatred, and deliberate destruction.
Sandra stood there holding a broom. Her face showed no shame or regret. Just satisfaction.
“Oh Jen!” she gasped in a theatrical performance. “I’m so clumsy. I knocked over the whole cabinet while looking for something.”
I just stood there, numb, trying to process the extent of her cruelty.
