As the woman ate and the boy sat with her, she reminisced about the family trivialities she so loved to recall.

"Once, when you were younger and I was carrying you because you had fallen asleep as we crossed the street, a woman—completely deranged—approached me and asked if I wanted to sell you. She said she would pay me very well. You squeezed me so tightly that I realized you were only pretending to be asleep. I was on the verge of playing a mean joke and asking that lunatic how much she was willing to pay, but some things aren't meant to be joked about. Do you remember that afternoon?"

The boy nodded, amused by the anecdote, while watching the woman, who was distracted by an insect buzzing around her. She swatted the air, then smacked the table, crushing the kamikaze fly that had been harassing her.

Suddenly, the footsteps upstairs came to life again. Those weightless steps echoed down the staircase, and the front door flung open before slamming shut—only to bounce back open again. Both the boy and the woman exchanged glances, expecting a thunderclap. But instead, a swarm of flies surged into the house, encircling the woman and attacking her relentlessly.

"Dear God! Dear God!" The woman flailed her arms, striking at the clusters of insects that scattered only to regroup again like schools of fish in the air. "My Lord! What is this?!"

The boy couldn't help her, but he watched in distress, trying to make sense of what was happening. With the calmness born from years of enduring life's aches and pains, the woman made her way up the stairs to her room, retrieving a can of hairspray. Carefully, she descended, mindful not to stumble despite the chaos of the swarm that relentlessly assaulted her. Once in the dining room, she reached into the sideboard, pulled out a lighter, and with a flick of her thumb, she ignited the aerosol spray, transforming it into a makeshift flamethrower. The fire engulfed the flies, sending them plummeting to the floor and tabletop, their tiny, stinking bodies twitching in their last moments like grotesque, burning stars. After several tense seconds, the few remaining flies that had survived took their leave, fleeing through the door just as they had entered, carrying their sinister hum away with them.

"My God... Have you ever seen anything like this?"

But instead of answering, the boy was staring toward the window that looked out onto the backyard. There, the cat from the previous night sat, impassively watching the woman as she collected herself. The woman returned its gaze, her expression wary, and for a long, frozen moment, they remained locked in silent confrontation. Then, just as suddenly, the cat leapt away and disappeared from view. The woman shook herself from the trance, grabbed a broom and dustpan, and set to cleaning the repulsive mess at her feet, while the nauseating stench of burnt hair stirred in her a queasiness she hadn't felt in years.

"No."

"What did you say, child?"

"I've never seen anything like this."

"Neither have I. Not even I," she lied.

"I'm scared."

The woman studied him. If she could—if it were easy—she would have embraced him for comfort. Instead, she sighed and replied,

"So am I, my boy. So am I."

All the mirrors in the house shattered at once, cracking simultaneously in a deafening, final rupture.