“You are not in trouble for telling me anything that happens to you.”
“She said you would get mad.”
“I’m mad about what happened to you. I am not mad at you.”
Sofía stared at my face as though she needed to study every word.
Then she leaned against me.
Ricardo ended the call.
“They can see her.”
I nodded.
Neither of us mentioned Teresa.
Not yet.
At urgent care, I felt like I was moving through water.
The waiting room lights were too bright.
A television mounted high on the wall played something cheerful with the sound turned low.
A little boy nearby was holding a toy truck.
Sofía sat between us with her coat zipped to her chin.
She looked tiny.
I kept thinking about how she had been taught, in only a few hours, to hide something from us because an adult had told her it was shameful.
The medical staff examined her.
We answered what we knew.
When we did not know something, we said so.
I watched Ricardo throughout the visit.
He was pale.
He stayed close to Sofía.
When she reached for water, he got it.
When she became quiet, he did not pressure her to speak.
But there was something underneath his reaction I could not identify.
At the time, I told myself it was shock.
Maybe it was.
I had been married to Ricardo long enough to know the difference between his anger and his fear.
That evening, I saw both.
When we returned home, Sofía was exhausted.
We made sure she would not be alone.
We did not tell extended family what had happened.
We did not post anything.
We did not call Teresa.
Then I reached for my keys.
Ricardo was standing in the kitchen.
“Where are you going?”
“To your mother’s house.”
His expression changed immediately.
“Don’t confront her alone.”
“I’m not going there to fight.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Listen.”
He frowned.
I held up my phone.
For months Teresa had said we misunderstood her.
That I exaggerated her comments.
That everything she said was out of concern for Sofía.
Maybe she would deny what happened.
Maybe she would explain it.
Maybe she would say something she could not later pretend she had never said.
Either way, I wanted her words.
Ricardo stared at the phone.
Then at me.
“Be careful.”
I slipped it into my coat pocket.
