Chapter 3: Broken Porcelain
The morning sun crept through the high windows of the garage apartment, casting warm golden rectangles across the hardwood floor. Mia woke up startled, her heart racing before she remembered where she was.
She walked quietly down the stairs into the workshop. Hank was bent over an engine block, a wrench in hand and grease on his forearms. When he turned and saw her, he wiped his hands on an old rag.
""Morning, kiddo. Sleep alright?""
Mia nodded nervously. She wanted to help, to prove she wasn't a burden. Seeing a glass jar of nuts and bolts resting near the edge of a workbench, she reached out to move it out of the way. But her pink cast clumsy brushed against the glass, sending it shattering onto the concrete floor.
Mia froze. The color drained from her face. Instinctively, she dropped to her knees, throwing her arms over her head and curling into a tight ball.
""I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please don't lock me away!"" she sobbed, her entire frame shaking violently.
Hank didn't yell. He didn't rush forward angrily. Instead, he slowly lowered himself onto the concrete floor a few feet away, sitting cross-legged in his dirty work pants.
""Hey,"" Hank said softly. ""Look at me, Mia.""
Slowly, she unshielded her face, her hazel eyes wide with dread.
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Hank picked up a piece of the broken glass and a stray bolt. ""It's just glass, Mia. Glass breaks. Workbench tops get dirty. Things fall down all the time in this shop."" He gently tossed the glass into a trash bin nearby. ""In this house, we don't hurt people for making mistakes. We just clean up the mess together.""
Mia wiped a tear with her sleeve, her breath coming in ragged gasps. For the first time in years, she realized that making a mistake didn't mean she was broken.
