The next morning, the sky was still gray, carrying the residue of the previous night's rain. Damian stood in front of the old colonial-style house on the edge of town where Elena and her children lived. His hand clutched a small box filled with toys and children's books—things he had bought in the middle of the night when his heart couldn’t settle.

When the door opened, Elena stood in the doorway, wearing a loose gray sweater and casual pants. Her hair was tied up in a simple bun. Her eyes looked tired.

"Elena..." Damian began, his voice low, almost hesitant.

"Damian, it's early in the morning," Elena said calmly. She...