Malia tossed fitfully in her bed, often fading in and out of half-dreams and dark awakeness. She dreamt of J.C.—his naked body hunched over the computer next to her in bed late at night, working, while the screen’s glare lit the room whitely.

“Turn it off, J.C.,” she said, waving her arms, her body scrunched into a ball, and squirming under the sheets, but J.C. would not listen.

“I’m doing this for you,” he said. “For you.” But he kept her awake ...