It hit the floor.
Roof split.
Sugar windows shattered.
Icing pieces scattered.
Malik gasped.
Zoe covered her mouth.
Renee stared.
Her face went white.
Grandma looked down at the wreckage.
Then said:
“Timber.”
For one terrible second, I nearly laughed.
I didn't.
Renee did not find it funny.
She turned on Grandma.
“You are insane!”
Grandma remained calm.
“No.”
“You destroyed my property!”
“Yes.”
“You think this proves something?”
“No.”
Grandma said.
“It demonstrates something.”
Renee was shaking.
“What?”
“How easy it is to dismiss damage when the object mattered only to someone else.”
That silenced her.
Then Grandma reached into her cardigan pocket.
Her phone.
She lifted it.
Renee frowned.
Grandma tapped screen.
“You should know your husband called me forty minutes ago.”
My head snapped up.
“What?”
Grandma looked at me.
“He got a notification from your living-room camera.”
Renee went still.
I had forgotten camera.
Dad installed it after packages were stolen from our porch.
It faced front entrance and most of living room.
He rarely checked.
Grandma continued.
“He saw you arguing.”
“He called me because he was already driving home.”
Renee looked toward camera.
Then at Grandma.
“No.”
Grandma’s face remained expressionless.
“Yes.”
“He watched you push the tree.”
The entire room stopped breathing.
Renee whispered:
“You're lying.”
Grandma turned phone.
On screen was Dad.
A live video call.
He was in his truck.
His face looked unlike anything I had ever seen.
Not rage.
Something colder.
“I'm five minutes away.”
he said.
Renee backed up.
“Marcus.”
“You heard me.”
“I can explain.”
“No.”
“Marcus—”
“Do not leave.”
Grandma lowered phone.
That was when the front-door lock turned.
Not five minutes.
Maybe he had already been on our street.
Renee looked toward door.
So did all of us.