My husband's nose changed first—a nearly imperceptible spot-the-difference puzzle on a face I'd known for twenty-two years. Through our kitchen's bay windows, the morning sunlight highlighted his sharp features, but the shadows fell all wrong. "Your nose looks longer," I said, through a mouthful of toast. "My nose?" Jeff patted it all around, as if he could feel its size. "I swear it usually sticks out a little less..." I squinted at him, and he frowned. "Gee, thanks." "I'm serious! It must've grown overnight." "Well, I haven't been telling any lies." I shook my head. "Maybe I'm going crazy in