Friday came. Steve left for the parade, cheerful and reassuring. He promised he was just going for his grandfather’s sake. I stayed behind, resting. But by midday, a strange hissing came from the kitchen. The faucet had burst. Water sprayed everywhere. I panicked, soaked and overwhelmed, and FaceTimed Steve. No answer. On the fourth try, he finally picked up, breathless. “I can’t talk. With Grandpa. Call a plumber,” he snapped, then hung up. But the call hadn’t