Michael stepped into the bar and made a beeline for the counter. His eyes were red and swollen from all the crying. He just needed a drink—something to help him forget what he had seen.

Sliding onto a stool, he rested his hand on the counter and met the bartender’s gaze.

“Bellini,” he said, his voice low.

The bartender gave a nod and got to work. As he waited, Michael lowered his head, battling the fresh wave of tears threatening to spill.

“There you ...