Hank wiped the sweat from his brow, glancing at the old Victorian house that stood before him. "Just a few things," the client had said on the phone. But as he and his two workers, Shorty and Jason, started moving furniture from the second floor, Hank realized it was more than just a few items.
Shorty, the quiet one, was carefully navigating a dresser down the narrow staircase, while Jason, the new guy, was trying to prove himself by hauling the heavier items. Hank had just finished securing a mirror when a loud crash echoed from downstairs, followed by a piercing shriek.
"Oh Hell No," Hank muttered, rushing down the steps two at a time. The sight that greeted him was a disaster. The homeowner, a middle-aged woman with her hands clasped over her mouth, was staring at the remnants of what used to be a glass babydoll case—her late mother's.
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she pointed a trembling finger towards the door. "Get out! Get out right now!" she cried, her voice laced with grief and anger.
Jason stood like a deer looking at headlights, shards of glass surrounding his feet, a look of disbelief plastered on his face. "I... I didn't see it," he stammered, but the homeowner was inconsolable.
Hank took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm. "Ma'am, I'm terribly sorry about this. We'll make it right," he said, but she wouldn't hear any of it.
As they gathered their tools and left the house, Hank couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt. He told Jason second floor only. “Oh yeah I forgot” Jason replied. Now, all they could do was go there separate ways and hope for forgiveness that might never come.