At 10:47 p.m., I turned onto our street.
Most of the houses were dark, but a few porch lights glowed beneath the trees. I pulled into my driveway and immediately noticed that our house was completely black.
No lights in the living room.
No television.
No glow from the kitchen.
I assumed everyone had gone to bed.
I unlocked the front door as quietly as possible and stepped inside.
Then I heard a sound.
Scrub.
Scrub.
Splash.
It came from the laundry room at the end of the hallway.
I followed it, wondering why anyone would be doing laundry so late at night.
When I reached the doorway, I stopped.
Sofia was kneeling beside a large plastic bucket, scrubbing a sweatshirt by hand. Her hair was tied into a messy knot, and she wore an old pair of slippers that were too small for her feet.
The overhead light was off.
