The gentle, rhythmic rasp of a power sander from an upstairs room was the new heartbeat of the house. It was a sound that had become so constant over the past two weeks that silence was now the thing that felt strange. Downstairs, in the slightly-too-cluttered living room, your mother, Mia, and your aunt, Sara, were curled on opposite ends of the sofa, mugs of steaming coffee cradled in their hands. The conversation, as it often did these days, seemed to be revolving around you. "...just w...