The sheets beneath Evelyn Richardson’s hand were scrunched; the folded layers were not enough of a deterrent for the nails digging into her palm. A brush of skin—Carl was awakening. That had not been her intention. It never was.

Carl gently brushed aside a sweep of her hair from her face buried deep within her pillow. “Again?”

Evelyn nodded, her face and pillow damp from the tears she must have wept as she watched the horrifying scene play before her. She was unable to...