During Family Breakfast, My Sister Hurled a Hot Frying Pan at My Daughter

In the living room, Emma started humming a soft tune as she set the tiny wooden chairs in a circle.

I opened the pantry, took down a box of cereal, and put two bowls on the kitchen counter.

My third-grade teaching contract for the fall lay in its blue folder next to the microwave, waiting for my signature.

I picked up my pen from the shelf and signed my name on the bottom line of the contract without hesitating.

When I went back into the living room, Emma was sitting quietly on the rug, holding Barnaby by his left ear.

“Is it dinnertime?” Emma asked.