The rest of the morning passed in a quiet that felt anything but peaceful. Elijah moved carefully around the living room, fixing papers, bending down occasionally to pick something up. Marga sat on the carpet, playing with her toys as if the world belonged only to her. I was in the kitchen, chopping onions, trying to ignore the heavy weight sitting in my chest.

Then, from the living room, I heard a small voice.

“Mommy? What’s this?”

I turned and froze.

Marga was kneeling beside the ...