Daniel was 10 years old and Alejandro was 7. School had started just two weeks earlier. Patricia would later remember every detail of that morning with painful clarity. Roberto seemed distracted, quieter than usual, but she attributed it to work stress. The company was undergoing an external audit, and Roberto had mentioned that he was overloaded with work.
He was wearing a long-sleeved white shirt, gray dress pants, and freshly polished black shoes. His brown faux-leather briefcase—the same one he had used for years—waited by the door.
“Are you okay?” Patricia asked as she poured him more coffee.
Roberto looked up and smiled at her in that way that always made her feel safe.
“Yes, my love. Just tired. Nothing a good coffee can’t fix.”
He kissed her on the forehead—a routine gesture she had received thousands of times, but one that would later take on a heartbreaking meaning. He went upstairs to wake the children, helped them get dressed, and prepared their lunches for school.
