THE house was quiet, the kind of quiet that pressed against the ears and weighed on the chest. The hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen, the soft ticking of the wall clock, and the occasional whisper of wind brushing against the windowpane were the only sounds. Every other light in the house was off. Hazel was asleep in her room, oblivious to the storm that had already passed through her life, and even the neighbors’ distant chatter had faded. The twins— in their room asleep already, along with Betty.
Amelia sat in the living room, her shoulders stiff, hands resting loosely on her lap. Beside her, Mrs. Harlow leaned forward slightly, the gentle creases in her face deepened by concern and love. She had arrived after an urgent call from her daughter, sensing the need to be there for the l
