The teapot was cracked. And still, it held. Fine gold traced the fracture like a river across porcelain. Not hidden. Highlighted. Not shame, but story.

The sun had barely risen when she stepped into the forest. The city still slept behind her, a muted hum on the horizon.

Each morning, Laura cradles her coffee cup, stirring it three times. Once for herself, once for the Earth, and once for the day ahead.