A guest wandered into the doorway and set a dirty glass on the counter by Aurora.

“Get me another iced tea, extra ice,” the woman said, casual as anything.

“And slice some watermelon while you’re at it.”

Aurora kept her head down, her voice trembling.

“Yes.

Right away.” As she turned for a knife, I saw a stained bandage wrapped around her thumb and a raw, dressed wound along her inner wrist — the kind of injury I would later hear a doctor describe in a clinical voice I will never forget.