The city glowed that morning soft, golden, and alive. The kind of glow that made even the weary believe that the world was trying to make up for everything it had once taken away. From the bedroom window, Violet watched the cherry blossoms drift like whispers against the glass, each petal falling with a grace that made her heart ache. She pressed a hand against her belly and smiled when a faint kick responded.

“Good morning, little dreamers,” she whispered. “Your father’s about to make breakfast again, which means we should probably pray for the kitchen.”

From the hallway came the unmistakable clatter of metal and the sound of Bryan...