“Malcolm!” I spun around, alarmed, as he doubled over, one hand clutching his chest while the other braced against the wall.

“Serves you right for trying to inhale your food like a starving wolf,” Mom said, though she moved quickly to pat his back firmly.

The coughing continued, harsh and ragged, until Lira who had just come in rushed to grab a cup of water from the pitcher by Dad’s bed and thrust it into his hand.

Malcolm gulped it down desperately between coughs, his face flushed red from the effort. When he finally caught his breath, he wheezed, “I’m… fine…”

“You’re clearly not fine,” I said, exasperated but relieved...