By the second week the boundaries were gone.
The house had become their private world—curtains drawn against the neighbors, phones silenced, doors locked. Mom’s conference had been extended another five days; the email arrived mid-morning with a breezy apology and a promise to bring back airport chocolates. Aliyah read it once, then deleted it. Steve watched her from the kitchen doorway, coffee mug paused halfway to his lips, and neither of them mentioned how relieved they both felt.
Rain started just after lunch—slow at first, then harder, drumming on the roof like impatient fingers. The power flickered once, twice—then died. No lights. No AC. Just the storm’s gray light leaking through the windows and the heat building fast in the closed-up rooms.
They didn’t bother with candles.
Ali
