In a fit of anger, I slammed the refrigerator door. HARD. The glass jars clinked against each other, but nothing too serious seemed to have happened.

When I reopened the refrigerator door, the top tray clattered onto the floor, a jar of salsa balanced on the edge, and a jar of strawberry jam smashed onto the tile beneath.

When I finished picking up shards and chips of glass from the floor with wet towels, I had only a small cut on my knee. And luckily, Stephen was only frightened, not hurt.

I should have known that clot of strawberry jam on the floor mixed with glass splinters portended what was to come today.