The slanting morning sun crept through the blinds in Lynda’s modest rented apartment, picking out the crisp edges and understated décor she had grown to appreciate. The place was hushed, except for the gentle whirring of the refrigerator and the distant, ever-present hum of city traffic.it was a city that kept spinning, completely unaware of her quiet victories. Lynda sat at her little dining table, a notebook open before her, fingers hovering over her pen. There was a routine to keep, ...