As she worked, Anna's mind wandered back to her childhood, spent helping her mother in the kitchen. She remembered the way her mother's hands had moved, the way she had taught Anna the secrets of traditional cooking. Anna's own kitchen was a reflection of those early lessons, a blend of old and new, with a dash of creativity and love.

"It's getting late," she said abruptly. The mood shifted. The visitation was over. "I need to prepare for tomorrow. The breakfast prep."

This is a deep dive into the layers of that philosophy.

His voice didn't echo. The house swallowed it.

"Hey, Anna, it's Sarah. I need a cake for my daughter's birthday party this weekend. Can you help me out?"

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