Monday Microburst: Broken Promises

Welcome to Monday Microbursts

Every week, I’ll share a tiny tale from Plymbury—the coastal New England town where all my stories live. These moments are short enough to read over morning coffee or tea, yet just long enough to leave a trace of magic in your day. I hope they become a small ritual you look forward to each Monday.

Broken Promises

In the back corner of the room that housed donations for the Living Waters Church’s craft fair, hidden behind a tower of mismatched plates, sat a single porcelain teacup. It had no saucer. A faint hairline crack ran from rim to base, and the once-gold trim had dulled to the color of tarnished straw.

Ellen almost didn’t notice it. She was searching for something perfect—a set of four cups to match the ones her grandmother had left her. But perfect was nowhere to be found.

Still, she lifted the cup, surprised by its delicate weight in her hands, and when the crack caught the light, it revealed a radiance she hadn’t expected from something broken.

It would never complete her set, but it could hold tea, warmth, and quiet mornings by the kitchen window overlooking Plymbury Beach.

So she took the cup home and gasped when the fragile line glowed with the promise of magic.

And she waited.

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If this moment from Plymbury stirred something in you, there’s more where it came from.

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