It was a soft afternoon, the kind that made time stretch like warm honey. Maya lay on a faded blue towel in her grandmother’s garden, which sloped gently toward the lake. The sun cradled her skin, warm but not scorching. Her hair spread like a dark halo on the grass, damp with a trace of lake water. Butterflies floated lazily from blossom to blossom. Birds chattered in a low, melodious argument in...