The house felt strange for the first several weeks after Sam left — not empty, exactly, since Bramble’s steady, gray-muzzled presence still filled the ordinary hours with his particular brand of devoted company, but quieter in a way neither Lucien nor Ezra had fully anticipated, despite eighteen years of watching other parents describe exactly this transition.

“I keep listening for him,” Ezra admitted one evening, nearly a month into the new, echoing quiet, standing in the doorway of Sam’s now-empty bedroom with an expression Lucien recognized as grief wearing the disguise of simple observation. “For the sound of him doing homework down the hall, or arguing with Bramble about whose...