If you were to slice the house in half and present it as a diorama, you would see a skinny middle-aged man in the basement, legs shaking as he lifted a barbell. On the first floor, a woman lay silently on a sofa by the flickering light of a TV, and above her, one daughter sat huddled at her desk, sketching in a notebook, and the other in her bedroom, talking on the phone, each of us clinging to our form of escape.
