No one stopped. New York City has little time for another’s tears, especially on a Monday morning when everyone is racing toward their own urgent destinations.

A woman in an Amtrak uniform shot her a disapproving look and muttered something into her shoulder radio. Probably calling security, Veronica thought with a detached sense of clarity. To remove the public nuisance. She understood, but she couldn’t move. Her legs refused to obey, and a fault line had just cracked open right through the center of her world.