The quiet safety of the house was back, solid and whole.

The yellow candlelight wavered twice in the light draft from the hallway door, throwing a soft glow across the silver frame of my wife’s photograph.

Two weeks later, the damp morning air smelled of freshly turned soil.

Emily pushed the steel spade four inches down into the dirt along our property boundary string.

“Is the hole deep enough?” she asked.

I tapped my left thumbnail against my knuckles and looked down into the dark earth.