She turned off the burner. The yellow sunny-side-up eggs were bright and held a promise of delicious creamy goodness. The black tea beckoned, steeped long enough to get every smooth, invigorating note from the unfurled leaves at the bottom of the pot.

In the unfathomable state of her new normal, the demands of life were absent. There was no to-do list, no lunches to pack, meals to plan, schedules to keep track of, or messes to clean up. In her old normal, the opportunity to focus on one thing at a time would have made that morning a welcome reprieve.

With her eyes closed, their cries and the screech of her car's roof against the highway returned. With her eyes open, the luxury of the quiet assaulted her.

The creaking of the house broke the silence.

She sipped the last of the tea and surveyed the four plates full of congealing eggs and the three ghosts at the table.

It was new, and hers, but it was not normal.