By eleven o’clock, the quiet in the bungalow shattered.

June began screaming from her crib in the nursery, a sharp, ragged sound that cut straight through the drywall.

It was not her usual hungry cry.

It was the high-pitched shriek of an infant in acute distress.

I ran up the stairs, throwing the nursery door open.

June was lying on her back, her face flushed a dark, angry red, her chest heaving as she gasped between screams.

“What is happening?” Ethan said, appearing in the doorway a few seconds later.