The night had settled like a soft blanket over the house, thick and quiet, the kind of quiet that almost feels alive. I had just finished tidying the kitchen, the remnants of our late afternoon lingering in the faint scent of ice cream and fresh air, when I remembered Marga.

She probably wasn’t asleep yet.

I moved silently down the hall, careful not to disturb the deep shadows of the evening. Her door was slightly ajar, the warm glow from her bedside lamp spilling softly into the hallway. I ...