Babushka remembers the night of that storm, when the whole town seemed to be upside down. It started with a bright flash—like the sky had a split second of a neon light show—then the wind howled, rattling windows, and the old bakery’s sign spun around like a lazy leaf. I was in the kitchen, stirring a pot of soup, when the power flickered off and the lights went out. The town’s only streetlamp exploded, throwing the street in sudden darkness, and every neighbor went looking for candles. One neighbor, my good friend Misha, ran out to get a flashlight, but the bolt hit a nearby tree and knocked it right onto the bakery roof, turning the whole place into a wooden fort. We all sat under the tree, huddled together, and laughed until the storm passed, and the town was a little less upside down and a lot more united. That night taught me that even the wildest storms can bring people together, and that a good story is like a warm blanket for the soul.