The December chill bit through my coat, a constant, gnawing reminder of the looming deadlines. Ron, my sister Claire’s husband. We were partners in this chaos, and in something else entirely. He said, “Looks like it. This quarterly report is a beast.” “A beast that demands a sacrifice,” I muttered, leaning back in my chair. He met my gaze, a flicker of understanding passing between us. “Stress relief, then?” “Absolutely,”...