I had been at that breakfast table, years back, you see. I know how clean they keep it, how the cupboard, though never locked, always invites, and how the talk... well, I have forgotten the talk.
I have not gone back, will never go back there (I remember the slant of sun through the windows).
It's a clear thing to me, that table, weeks or years from now. I see her parents looming over breakfast, tomorrow, talking and not talking about her.