"Why are my eggs back?" Katelyn demanded, slapping the fridge door open. "Who are you talking to?" she asked the empty kitchen, louder than she meant. She stared at the two cardboard egg cartons sitting where empty clamshells had been an hour ago. The cartons weren't just full; one of them had a hairline crack on the third egg, the crack she had made with a curse when she'd thrown them away yesterday. "No. No, no, no," she said, and laughed once, a short, sharp sound. "This is not happening." She pulled a carton toward her and tapped an egg. It held. She tapped harder. The shell didn't crack. She pressed the heel of her hand against the egg until her knuckles scraped the counter to prove she could hurt it. "Okay, fridge, explain yourself," she told the appliance like it had a face. She pulled her phone from her pocket. Her thumb hovered over her bank app, then over a list of contacts labeled in neat, desperate handwriting: Landlord, Student Loans, Car Note. She didn't call any of them. "Record this," she said to the phone out loud, because saying things out loud helped them feel real. She set the carton back and opened the freezer. Frost had gathered along the edges of the old seal. It smelled faintly of detergent and lemon. She reached inside and found a cube-tray wrapped in a tea towel. The towel smelled like the soy paste she'd