LENA

The kitchen was dark when I came downstairs.

Not entirely, the under-cabinet lights were on, the small ambient glow I had learned was left on by habit or preference or some arrangement with the household that predated me, the specific consideration of a house that did not want to be entirely dark for the people who moved through it at hours that were not meant for moving. I had been awake since three-seventeen. I knew this because I had looked at my phone at three-seventeen and had then put it face-down and had lain in the dark for what felt like an hour and had looked again and it...