ISABELLA'S POVI was not used to this. The days without Ezekiel were unfamiliar in a way that crawled under my skin, like a silence I had not invited but was forced to sit with. He stopped visiting. No messages. No calls. No attempts to check on Marga. Nothing.

It should have brought me relief. After all, he had been forcing himself into our lives, pushing me relentlessly to let Marga recognize him as a father. He kept claiming rights that he abandoned years ago. He kept insisting on a place he ...