The rain over Arlington that night sounded restless. Not violent enough to become a storm. Not soft enough to become comforting.
My sister called me at 12:08 a.m. The ringtone, a sharp, digital chime I’d assigned only to her, cut through the rain-soaked silence of our bedroom. For a half-second, a wave of pure irritation washed over me. I almost ignored it. My husband, **Caleb Morrison**, was a warm, solid presence asleep beside me, his breathing…
