He passed me as if I were transparent. No goodbye. No glance. Just the displacement of air as he moved, leaving me alone in the vast, echoing house.

My day was a cycle of servitude. I cleared, I scrubbed, I polished. I believed, with a foolish, desperate heart, that if the floors were shiny enough, if the dinner was savory enough, if I was perfect enough, the old Tremaine would return. I didn’t know then that the old Tremaine was dead.

At noon, I picked Zariah up. It was the highlight of my existence. “Mommy, I got five gold stars today!” she chirped, her small hand warm in mine.

“Five? My daughter is a genius!” I laughed, pinching her nose.

But the darkness was waiting for us at home.

As I unlocked the front door, the roar of a motorcycle cut through the suburban quiet. A courier in a bright vest jogged up the driveway. “Delivery for Nyala!”