How does a home forget it is meant to be a sanctuary?
For us, the forgetting began in the bedroom. Each morning, we awoke to a scene of quiet violence. The bed, which we’d made with care, was utterly undone. The heavy comforter, thrown to the floor. The pillows, hurled against the far wall by some unseen, impossible force. A daily act of defiance against an invisible vandal.
Then came the sou...
