The Song at 3am

I am not a religious person by background. I want to say that first. I was going through a divorce and had not slept more than four hours in weeks. At 3am on a Tuesday I was sitting on the floor of my kitchen in Kansas City and I heard — clearly, not ambiguously — a melody. Not from a phone, not from a neighbor. It was in the room. It lasted maybe ninety seconds and then was gone. I cannot explain it. I did not try to. I got up off the floor, went to bed, and slept for nine hours. I have not heard it since. I do not know what it was. I only know what it did.