I thrive in the chilly light of morning. My robe billows behind me like a Midwestern housewife off to make breakfast for my family of one. We settle into our comfortable rhythm. Consumed by our love for each other and hatred for ourselves. I smile into my pot. The portrait of a family once broken, now painfully pieced back together. Sore from events months passed but ever present. A looming cumulonimbus. We enjoy our meal in silence, afraid that any sudden move would burst our bubble of false serenity. The morning brings new hope for stability with knowledge of the possibilities of havoc wreaked by the storm ever-foretold.