I stare at him. “Is this how the whole day is going to go? Keep away from windows and falling objects?”

Warning flashes in his eyes. “Don’t mock it, Nina.”

“I…” I turn away, staring out at the sunlight rising gold on the sea until it stings my eyes blurry. “I am not trying to mock anything. I know this is the—”

I hiss, pulling my hand back.

Hugh grips the bend in my waist more tightly. “What?”

“There’s a crack. Do you see that? In the window.” I back away and point, watching nauseous as it spreads quickly across the pane. “The branch did it. Last night.”

Hugh pulls me away from the glass, into what feels like the precise center of the room. His jaw is tight, top lip shiny with sweat.

“I forgot, and then I just leaned on the window. Jesus. I could have…” My hands are shaking. I ball them and let them go. “Can we fix it? How do we fix it?”

“We don’t. Not now. We have breakfast.” He kisses me briskly on the forehead. “We’ll wake the kids and have something special. I doubt Sally’s slept much either. She’s probably desperate for something to do.”

I can see the strain in his smile, but he’s trying to be breezy, for the first time in days. It’s strangely moving.

“It’s our anniversary,” I say, remembering.

He laughs a little. “Huh. So it is.”

I wait for the “Happy anniversary, darling,” but it doesn’t come. “Happy” is a stretch for him today.

“You look nice in that dress,” he says quietly, running his fingers along one sleeve. “When did you get this one? Tavira?”

I lift onto my tiptoes and kiss his clammy cheek. “Yep.”

“That little shop with all the parakeets in it.”

“Yes! That crazy bird lady, do you remember?”

“I’m surprised I remember, frankly. We’d both had so much vinho tinto at lunch.”

Normalcy. There. Remembering holidays, talking about outfits.

“You should wear that dress more often.” He traces the impatiens pattern with one finger, then slides his arm all the way around my waist.

We step into the corridor, bodies linked.

“Hey, if the weather stays nice today, we could climb down to the puffin beach,” I say. “Charlie’s been pestering—”

“No.” Hugh’s arm tightens around me. “Nowhere far. If we can keep it to indoor activities. Ground floor. It’s no guarantee, of course, but reassuring to try. I want them to feel safe, even if they … You understand.”

I want to scream. I’m going to scream. I smile. “Right, yeah, of course.”

I can hear Max downstairs scratching at the door. Scritch. Pause. Scritch. Sally must not be up after all.

Hugh opens the door to Emma’s room and murmurs a singsong good morning. When she answers, that gleeful “Daddyyyy,” something clenches in my chest, clawing deeper and deeper.