Elena sat beside her mother on the old wooden chair, still on the clothes she wore to the bakery that morning, her hair loosely tied back. The aroma of curry sauce and rice lingered from the kitchen.

Mrs. Gregory stood up and got a plate and served her daughter. She wiped her hands and glanced softly at her daughter. “Elena,” she began, breaking the calm silence, “have you heard from Mr. Andre lately?”

Elena looked up from the table where she had been recording the bakery’s daily ...