By FC Malby
The early morning light pierced through the kitchen window, catching the edge of the table. Dents left from an old mincer had been ingrained along the edges, and there were strokes of felt tip pen in an array of colours left by the grandchildren during a recent visit. Signs of life, she thought. Kitchens are the hub of the home, her mother had said, but life as she knew it had come to an abrupt end last night when she had received the call.