And then I stared straight up at the ceiling as my entire morning silently rearranged itself around a single, humbling fact.

“It is flour,” I announced, my voice dropping to a stunned whisper.

“It is flour.

This is, this is literally just baking flour.” Across the room, Jacqueline uncovered her face, her eyes shining wet with relief.

“Oh, Brenda,” she said.

“I am so, so sorry for scaring you.” And Zachary, kneeling beside me, looked from the bag to his mother and back again, and asked the only question that mattered.

“Mom.