Morning sunlight filtered into the kitchen, warm and soft , the kind of light that usually promised a peaceful day.

But Camilia felt anything close to peaceful.

Her hands moved quietly as she set the table. She placed the dishes one by one, adjusting the angles, smoothing the cloth, aligning the spoons, wiping invisible dust from the plates. She wasn’t doing it because she enjoyed it. She was doing it because she needed something, anything to distract her from the twisting thoughts in her ...