My daughter’s fever climbed so high I knew we couldn’t wait. But my mother-in-law stood in the kitchen and told me to stay, smile, and cook for her guests.

“Stop embarrassing this family,” she said — in a house she had no idea was entirely mine.

Chapter 1 —104.1

The thermometer showed 104.1, and my mother-in-law still wanted to know whether the salmon had been plated.

For a second, I wondered if I’d heard her right.

My daughter, Sabina, was four. She rested against my shoulder in a damp cotton nightdress, her cheeks unnaturally red, dark curls stuck to her forehead, her small hands hanging weak against my collarbone.

Every few moments a tremor passed through her even though heat radiated off her skin. I’d wrapped her in the soft gray blanket she used for naps, the one with faded stars around the edge, and it had already grown warm from her fever.