The next morning, sunlight spilled unevenly through the curtains, throwing stripes across the living room floor. I woke with a stiffness in my shoulders, the kind that comes from sleeping in a chair because I’d been watching over Marga half the night, worried she might wake in tears. Instead, I found her curled under the blanket, her face peaceful, the drawings from yesterday scattered neatly on the floor beside her bed.

She stirred as I approached, blinking sleep out of her eyes. ...