I needed to understand whether there was anything else Sofia had been too frightened to tell me.
I arranged for the proper people to be informed of my plans and made sure Sofia would remain with Rafael and his wife.
Then, early the following morning, I drove back to the house.
The front door opened with the same familiar click it had made for twelve years.
For a moment, I stood in the entrance and listened.
The house was silent.
I walked into the kitchen first.
The plastic bucket Sofia had used was still beside the laundry sink. Someone had emptied it, but the sweatshirt she had been washing remained draped over the edge.
I picked it up.
It was one of her school sweatshirts.
There was a small embroidered S near the pocket, the same letter I had ordered when she started secondary school.
I remembered buying it for her. She had complained that the school uniform was ugly, then worn that sweatshirt almost every weekend.
