Driving down the street I’d grown up on was tough. Pulling into the driveway of my childhood home was almost unbearable. But walking through the front door? That was a whole new level of gut-wrenching despair.

The cleaning crew I’d hired before coming to Zin Sasi had done their job well. Not a speck of dust or a single cobweb lingered. After ten years, the little house on Maple Street looked exactly as it had the day I’d left. Maybe if sheets had covered my mom’s favorite overstuffed chair or my dad’s golf clubs, their absence wouldn’t have felt so suffocating. But no. Everything was exactly as they’d left it,...