“I don’t know exactly what happens next,” I told her honestly. “But I know I will not ask you to live with someone who makes you afraid.”
She nodded slowly.
“Okay.”
Then she leaned against my shoulder.
It was the first time in months, she told me later, that she had felt comfortable enough to close her eyes while another person was in the room.
At 3:18 p.m., Patricia called.
I was standing outside my brother’s house when her name appeared on my screen.
I answered.
“Gabriel! Where are you?”
Her voice was bright and irritated, the tone she used when she expected me to solve a minor inconvenience.
“At Rafael’s.”
“Why?”
“Where’s Sofia?”
There was a pause.
“What do you mean, where’s Sofia? She’s at home, isn’t she?”
“No.”
Another pause.
“What do you mean, no?”
“I came home last night. Sofia told me what has been happening.”
The silence on the line was so complete that I could hear the faint hum of traffic around me.
