The phone’s vibration cut through the predawn silence like a knife, pulling me from shallow sleep at exactly 5:03 a.m. I reached for it on the nightstand of my beach house bedroom, where the window stood open to let in the salt-tinged breeze and the rhythmic sound of waves breaking against the shore. The caller ID showed Leo Martinez, the security guard at my building downtown—a good man who’d worked there since I’d moved in ten years ago, who always greeted me with genuine warmth and asked about my week. Continue reading…
