The autumn wind howled through the streets of Chicago, rattling the windows of George's apartment like an insistent visitor demanding entry. Inside, the warmth of the fireplace battled against the chill, casting dancing shadows across the walls. George sat in his favorite armchair, a book open in his lap, but his mind was elsewhere.
Sam was in the kitchen, preparing dinner. The scent of garlic and herbs drifted through the air, mingling with the crackling of the fire. It was a scene of domestic peace, the kind of tranquility George had spent years fighting to achieve.
But peace, he had learned, was always fragile.
Lily arrived at six, as she did most evenings now. She had become a regular presence in their lives, a fixture at their dinner table, a familiar face in their home. It was str
