Some shadows are obedient. Mine… is not. At precisely 2:17 every afternoon, it detaches with a casual little pop, like a balloon slipping its knot. I don’t notice at first—why would I?—until I realize my coffee cup is empty, my laptop has shifted tw...

Morning murmurs There’s a peculiar language to the house in these early hours — the kind that whispers if you stand still long enough. Cups rattle on saucers, floorboards sigh under shoes that remember too much, and somewhere, a lonely sock wails fo...