She smiled without warmth.
“Ask him.”
“I’m asking you.”
“He always gets uncomfortable when I talk about consequences, doesn’t he?”
I remembered Christmas dinner.
Teresa had criticized Sofía for reaching toward a second dessert.
Ricardo had abruptly changed the subject.
At the time I thought he was avoiding an argument.
Now I wondered why.
Teresa stepped backward slightly.
“You’ve spent years thinking he takes your side because you’re right.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“I’m saying he knows better than anyone why children shouldn’t be allowed to become defiant.”
My mouth went dry.
This was no longer only a conversation about what had happened that afternoon.
It was about history.
About Ricardo.
About something Teresa believed he understood without explanation.
My phone was still recording.
I forced myself not to reach for it.
“Was what you did to Sofía something you had done before?”
Teresa’s expression changed.
Only slightly.
But enough.
I felt the question settle between us.
Not only had I asked whether Sofía had experienced something similar before.
I had asked whether Teresa had used these methods before at all.
She did not answer.
Instead, she said, “You should go home.”
“No.”
Her jaw tightened.
“You’ve already decided I’m some kind of monster.”
“I haven’t called you anything.”
“You don’t need to.”
“Then answer me.”
She stared at me for several seconds.
I thought of Sofía asking me to promise I would not be angry.
I thought of the plastic bag.
The irritated skin.
The red lines.
