For a long moment, nothing moved but the green line on the monitor. Then Laura’s fingers twitched beneath Noah’s hand, a tiny flutter, like a bird settling. I stopped breathing. Noah leaned in, grinning, and whispered, “See, Dad? She does it every Sunday, when Grandma goes to the cafeteria.” My eyes filled. The monitor chimed, a faint, quickening beep, and I reached for the call button with a hand I could not keep steady.

A nurse hurried in, followed by Dr. Okafor, who watched the monitor and the movement of Laura’s fingers. “Mr. Hayes,” he said, “how long has this been happening?” I looked at Noah, who shrugged. “Since the second week,” he said. “I told Grandma, but she said I was dreaming.” My knees buckled, and I sat down hard on the edge of Laura’s bed, hearing my own heartbeat. Then Laura’s eyelids fluttered.