By eleven o’clock, the quiet in the bungalow broke apart.

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

It wasn’t her usual hungry cry.

It was the high-pitched shriek of a baby in real distress.

I ran up the stairs and threw 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’s going on?” Ethan said, showing up in the doorway a few seconds later.