“Mr. Torres, we’ve been trying to reach you.”
I closed my eyes.
“About what?”
There was a pause.
“Sofia has missed several assignments, and her teachers have expressed concerns about her appearance and behavior. We attempted to arrange a meeting with you, but your wife told us you were aware of the situation.”
“My wife told you that?”
“She said Sofia was going through a difficult period and that you were both handling it at home.”
I thanked the counselor and arranged to meet the school that morning.
Then I contacted a local doctor and asked for an appointment for Sofia. I wanted her injuries documented and assessed properly, not because I needed proof to love my daughter, but because I understood that protecting her might require evidence other people could verify.
Before leaving, I walked through the house.
Everything looked normal.
The sofa cushions were arranged neatly. The kitchen counters were spotless. Family photographs stood on the shelves. Patricia had always been proud of how beautiful the house looked.
