The humid air of the late afternoon hung like a wet shroud over the house, smelling of old dust and impending rain. William stood in the narrow hallway, his back pressed against the floral wallpaper, listening. From behind the heavy oak door of the master bedroom, a sound leaked out—a low, guttural moan that vibrated through the drywall. It wasn't a sound of pain, but a desperate, rhythmic longing. He knew that sound. He had heard it through the walls for months, the soundtrack to his father’s failing attempts to satisfy a woman whose body had become a volatile chemical reaction during her pregnancy.