I was sitting on the couch, turning the remote control over in my hands, trying to resist the urge to surf the news programs for information, when I heard a gentle knock on the front door. I tensed, glancing at Grace kicking on her play blanket. But no reporter would knock so gently, eschewing the doorbell as if afraid they’d wake the baby. I peeked through the window of our front door and saw Rahmia. The beveled glass fragmented and refracted the pale pink of her hijab so that it looked like blossoms on our tree.

I opened the door and motioned her inside. Rahmia was carrying a disposable aluminum pan covered with foil and a gift bag dangling from her wrist, but she was already looking past me. “Where is your sweet girl? I have something for her too. She must have grown so much. It’s been too long since we’ve seen each other. I haven’t seen you walking, and I texted, but …”

“I’m terrible about checking my cell phone. I’m so sorry.”

She waved away my apology. “You had too many other worries on your mind. I brought you chicken pulao. You can eat it tonight or freeze it for later.” As she passed the food to me, our eyes met, and I remembered that one of mine was still black.

“Thank you. You didn’t have to do this.” The pan was heavier than I’d expected, still warm, and a sweet yet savory aroma rose from it. Although it was just midmorning, suddenly all I wanted was to gorge myself on this gift of literal comfort. Instead, I brought it to the kitchen and slid it into the fridge. Maybe this homey casserole was exactly what Michael and I needed to break through the ice that had formed over our evenings. “Grace is in the other room on her play mat.”

But Rahmia stayed with me in the kitchen. “This has all been very stressful for you. It’s a terrible thing. How are you doing really?”

“I’m okay. I mean, it’s hard, I’m not sleeping well, but …” I squirmed.

“And Michael, how is he handling all this stress?”

“Neither of us are sleeping well. He’s still got work, though, so that helps.” I thought about those forums, the newscasts I hadn’t watched, the speculation and the reporting all mixed up together. “How much do you know about what happened?”

Rahmia didn’t launch into an involved story. Instead, her fingers worried at the cord handles of the gift bag. “It was your neighbors, Lena and her husband. Michael found out about it. That’s what the news said.”

“That’s true.”

She took a deep breath and set the bag down on the table. “Your eye—”

“I fell out of bed.” The truth didn’t sound any more convincing than when I’d said it to Elizabeth. “I really did.”