What came next was Irene and Rarlat standing motionless at the top of the stairs, like figures pulled from some faded, ancient painting. Irene’s face had gone ashen, her eyes too wide for someone still trying to cling to any shred of dignity. Rarlat gripped the banister so tightly it looked like she believed it could stop the world from collapsing.

When the front door closed behind Carly and the sound of the police car faded into the night, Irene began her descent. Each step was labored, her ...