He had done this every day since her death. Her portrait stood at the head of the table, the warm smile shining over the multitude of traditional dishes he had prepared. He then lit the tried and true candles and bowed in commemoration with his son. But from his repeated ceremonies, the candle holder had become chipped and unbalanced. The candle toppled from its throne, and the fire spread rapidly, eager to escape its confines. It consumed the house; the historical pieces and

The afternoon Sun shone ahead, forcing Jo's eyes downward. As he walked forward, the sun’s heat imbuing into his hair, he stepped upon...