Closing the Door
This morning, when Sam came downstairs for his first cup of coffee, Freya was already sitting on her sofa, fully dressed and sipping her third. He stopped at the foot of the stairs, and I could see the wariness curling in his stomach already. I wonder what was more intimidating to his spirit—the awareness of a Cherub standing in that room with hostile wings spread, or the glint of resolve in his daughter’s eyes. “Hey, kiddo,” he said. “Thought you…