Sofía closes her eyes for just a second. “Go on, baby. I’ll come get you in a minute.”
He hesitates, then pads down the hallway with the dramatic reluctance only children possess. You watch him go, and something primitive and frightened rises in your chest. When he disappears, you turn back to her. Your voice comes out low and hard. “Explain.”
She nods once, like she expected no mercy and got exactly what she deserved. “He was born seven months after you left.”
You laugh then, but there’s no humor in it. It sounds like something breaking under pressure. “Seven months.”
“I know how that sounds.”
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