Silence. Sarah stood in the vacant lot the clerk had mentioned, knee-deep in November weeds. The Victorian was gone. No rubble, no ash, just bare earth and a single red balloon snagged on a rusted fence post, deflating slowly. Her phone buzzed one last time: the Family Album app deleting itself, photo by photo, until the screen showed 0 images. The ribbon stitches dissolved from her lips like sugar in rain. She tasted blood and birthday cake, then nothing. Sirens in the distance. She looked at her hands; the cuts were already scarring into pale, perfect X’s. Somewhere under the dirt, something small sighed, long and final, like a child finally sent to bed.