Lyra skips along beside me as we step into the supermarket, her small fingers warm and secure in my grasp. "Mama, can we buy the cookies with all the rainbow sprinkles on them?" Her voice carries a bright eagerness, and she looks up at me, hopeful.

"We'll see, honey," I say, guiding her toward the carts. "First, we need to get the boring things—milk, bread, and the essentials." I grab a cart and try to steel myself against the unease that clings to me from yesterday. ...