Kiana took the mug and sipped the coffee. It was sweet, even though she hadn’t taken sugar in her coffee in about five years. “Thank you,” she said. “It’s delicious.”

He left for the kitchen, whistling something cheerful, and Kiana remained sitting there, looking out the bedroom window at the gray apartment buildings and the faint outline of downtown in the distance. Outside, a fine October drizzle was falling, gray and tiresome, just like her growing anxiety.

At work that day in the small construction company’s office on the edge of their midwestern city, she tried to focus on the numbers. Accounting was a refuge for those who didn’t want to think about life. Columns, spreadsheets, reconciliation reports—the main thing was not to get distracted. But her thoughts kept buzzing around her like persistent flies.