Almost every Sunday afternoon, Daniel and Emma walked arm in arm around their neighborhood. Perhaps it was something in the air, but today, without really making a conscious decision, they chose a route different from their usual.

Nearly home, they rounded a corner, and a warm breeze rustled the leaves and nudged the wind chime hanging from the porch of a yellow brick house. Daniel stopped mid-step, his brow furrowed.

Emma turned to him. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Daniel tilted his head, listening. “That sound. It reminds me of something. I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

Emma listened too. “You mean the wind chime?”

“Yes, that’s it,” Daniel said. “But it reminds me of something else.”