I have thought since about how ordinary that moment was, how completely unremarkable, a woman on a Saturday morning fighting with a fitted sheet while her husband rinsed a mug down the hall, the most mundane scene imaginable.

That is the thing about the mornings that turn your life sideways.

They almost never announce themselves.

They arrive disguised as ordinary Saturdays, as stubborn sheets and open windows and coffee brewing down the hall, and you are elbow-deep in the mundane before you have any idea that the day has something entirely different planned for you.

I have a theory, developed entirely in hindsight, about why the ordinary disguise is so effective.

It is because when you are doing something mundane, your guard is down.