She understood that everyone wanted to talk about the storm’s damage, but for all she cared, her house could have been swept right off the map and carried into the Atlantic Ocean. Maybe some mermaid family could rehab the cottage next, or a school of clown fish could move in.

It’s okay if the cottage is destroyed. Sadie began to bargain with God. But please bring Ethan home safely. She rubbed her lower abdomen. He or she needs to meet their daddy.

“When are you due?” Bree asked, noticing Sadie’s discreet caress.

“Right before Thanksgiving.” Sadie blew on a forkful of bacon, recalling an article she’d read just last week about the benefits of maintaining a vegan diet during pregnancy. Oh well. “We could go with Macy for the big parade. Or Peregrine, after the first child born to the pilgrims.

Bree gave a low whistle. “Look at you Ms. History Buff. Maybe you want something with more passion. Because Scorpions? They’re intense.” Bree stirred a generous spoonful of sugar into her coffee. “A force to be reckoned with.”

Sadie laughed, enjoying the welcome distraction from her scary thoughts. “Hopefully not too intense. I had a third-degree tear pushing out Lincoln.”

“Damn woman, I don’t know what that means but it doesn’t sound like anything good.”

“I love my kid, but real talk, childbirth is for the birds.”

Bree wrinkled her nose. “I’ll take your word for it.”

They clinked mugs.

After what felt like forever—Dan had asked for seconds on the blueberry pancakes—it was finally time to head back to Seashell Lane. No one spoke during the short drive down the road, as each of them prepared for the worst and prayed for the best.

“Our homes! They’re okay!” Renee shouted at the first sight of the two cottages. “Sadie, your cherry tree survived, too! I can’t believe it.”

“How awesome! Thank God!” Sadie hoped she sounded convincing.

She was thankful, she truly was.

But she was also crestfallen, devastated. Because when Dan pulled in front of her home, the only thing she registered was the empty driveway.

She thanked both of them for all their help before quickly retreating inside her cottage. She set Lincoln down in front of the TV with a sippy cup of juice and some Goldfish crackers. Then, she slipped inside the first-floor powder room, sat on the closed toilet seat, and gave herself over to her tears.

Should she begin calling hospitals? Or was it customary to alert the police first? Something terrible had happened to her husband. She felt it in every cell of her being. But where did she begin? Where should she turn?

She splashed cold water on her face before gulping down handfuls from the faucet. The mirror reflected a sober sight. Dark bags bruised the delicate skin beneath her eyes, and her complexion looked ashen.