“Make a wish,” I said.
She closed her eyes.
After she blew them out, I asked what she had wished for.
She grinned.
“If I tell you, it won’t come true.”
“Fair enough.”
Everyone laughed.
Later that night, after the guests had gone, Sofia helped me put away the plates. I tried to stop her, but she insisted on carrying a few things to the kitchen.
The difference was that she was helping because she wanted to, not because she was afraid of punishment.
When we finished, she sat at the table and rested her chin on her hands.
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Do you ever think about that night?”
“Every day.”
She looked toward the laundry room.
“Sometimes I still remember the water. My hands were so cold.”
I sat beside her.
“I’m sorry.”
She shook her head.
“You don’t have to keep apologizing for what they did.”
“I know. But I will always wish I had come home sooner.”
