Don’t cry anymore, Lucas. Mateo, please stop. I’m so sorry for both of you. Her voice trembled with doubt and guilt. It was 8-year-old Sofia Castillo, living under the roof of her uncle Ricardo Castillo and aunt Sandra Rojas in Pasadena after her parents died.
She was thin and small for her age. Her hands trembled as she held her six-month-old twin brothers. Lucas’s body burned with fever. Mateo gasped, his lips dry and cracked. Both cried incessantly from hunger. Sofía opened the pantry and took out the half-empty box of baby formula. She looked around, swallowed, added an extra spoonful, and shook the bottle until the powder dissolved. The soft scent of milk made the babies stop for a second, then cry even louder.
Sofia whispered like a prayer. Just this once, please stop crying. Don’t let them notice, please, God. The sound of high heels stopped right behind her. Sandra Rojas stood in the kitchen doorway, her gaze sharp as knives. What do you think you’re doing, brat? I told you one spoonful a day. You didn’t hear me. Sofia hugged Mateo tightly, her voice breaking. Aunt, they have a fever. Please, just this once.
I promise I’ll work harder, please. Sandra snatched the bottle from his hand without even looking at the babies. You always have an excuse. With a flick of her wrist, the white milk spilled onto the floor. If you want milk, go beg for it on the street. Ricardo Castillo finally got up from the living room chair. His dark T-shirt smelled of cigarettes. He leaned against the doorframe as if he were watching a show. Useless little girl living off us and still trying to be clever.
If you’re so thirsty for milk, then go out and beg. This house doesn’t breed thieves. Sofia knelt with one arm supporting Lucas and the other clasping her hands, her voice breaking. “Please, uncle, aunt, my brothers have a fever, they need milk. I’ll wash the dishes, mop the floors, do the laundry, I’ll do twice the work, I’ll do everything, and all by myself.” Sandra stepped forward, pushed Sofia’s hands away, and slapped her hard across the cheek.
I already told you, didn’t you understand? He grabbed her by the hair and dragged her across the floor. “Get up and leave. Not anymore, Aunt, please, just let the babies drink.” Sofia clutched the edge of the table. Lucas let out a heart-rending scream. Mateo grabbed his sister’s collar, frightened. Ricardo approached, opened the front door wide, and spoke slowly as if passing sentence. “From now on, you’re out. Don’t come back until you learn respect.”
And don’t let the neighbors see this shameful scene. Sandra gave a sharp jerk, dragging Sofía and the two babies out into the street. Go live out there. This house doesn’t feed trash like you. The midday sun beat down on the burning pavement. Sofía’s bare feet pressed against the cement, dirty and aching. She struggled to hold both children. Lucas lay in her left arm, his body burning with heat. Mateo huddled against her chest, gasping for air.
Please, Aunt, Uncle, I’m sorry. Let me clean for a whole week if necessary. I won’t go back to any more milk. I swear. Sandra gave a harsh laugh, standing on the porch like a guard. What’s a thief’s promise worth? Ricardo looked at the neighbors spying from behind their curtains. Go back inside. None of you are involved. And you, get away from my door right now. He kicked the iron gate, and the metallic sound echoed loudly.
