The morning light crept softly through the blinds, painting the living room in streaks of gold and shadow. I lay on the sofa for a moment, too aware of the weight in my chest to move quickly. The quiet was different from the night before. Not peaceful, not really. It was loaded with the tension of what had passed, of the conversation Ezekiel and I had shared on the porch.

Elijah was in the kitchen, the soft clatter of dishes punctuating the morning stillness. I could hear Marga’s light ...