Hope turned one year old, and Destiny threw a party. The shelter's common room was decorated with streamers—paper things in bright colors that Mira found garish and cheerful in equal measure. There was a cake, made by Alma, who was secretly an excellent baker, and there was a stack of gifts that the shelter staff and volunteers had contributed, and there was Hope herself: one year old, running around on unsteady legs, laughing at everything and nothing. Hope had learned, in the past few weeks,...