They say storms come when the sky has something to say. That night, the sky had a lot on its mind. I was brewing a pot of tea in my kitchen when the first crack of thunder rattled the windows. I’m not one to scare easily, but how the wind howled through the trees outside sent a shiver down my spine. My old house creaked in protest as if bracing itself for the worst.Then, I heard it: a sharp, unmistakable crash coming from the living room. “What in the world?” I muttered, dropping the spoon back into the sugar bowl. I rushed through the hallway, my heart pounding as the storm raged on outside. When I turned the corner, my worst fear was confirmed. The front window, the one with the view of Mrs. Hutchinson’s rose garden, had given in. Shards of glass were scattered everywhere, glittering dangerously in the dim light.“Oh, dear Lord,” I whispered, pressing a hand to my chest. For a moment,