The next morning began in the kind of quiet that doesn’t belong to a sleeping city but to one that has just begun to stretch. The street below was not yet filled with the impatient hum of traffic, only the occasional car passing and the soft rhythm of footsteps heading toward early shifts. The light through the kitchen window was pale and a little hesitant, as though it was not quite ready to declare itself daytime. I stood at the counter with a mug of coffee warming my hands, letting the ...