I was picking up run-away marbles that morning and grumbling that I was at risk of losing mine when I thought of her. Her hallow eyes loomed in my mind as I crawled on my knees and tried to grab those shiny glass orbs scattered all over the living room carpet again. My four-year-old had been cooking me marble stew since she’d stumbled from bed before sunrise, and my pots and pans were scattered all across the couch. (Um, I mean, the oven with couch- cushion burners.) There was nothing terrible about the hours ahead- just another day of folding laundry and reading picture books, …
