“Don’t exaggerate. You’re ruining Mateo’s birthday.”
My dad, from the kitchen, just watched. Silent. As always.
I walked toward the door. My mom yelled behind me:
“Daniel, come back! Don’t you dare leave this house like that!”
Then I heard a plate smash against the wall.
I didn’t look back.
I put Sofia in the car, locked the doors, and started the engine while she kept whispering:
“Dad, I didn’t do anything…”
And that’s when I understood that what had happened wasn’t a joke.
But I still couldn’t imagine how far they were willing to go to hide it.
PART 2
That night, in the emergency room, Sofía didn’t let go of my hand for a second.
The doctor who examined her at the general hospital asked me carefully what had happened. I repeated what little I knew: family party, bath, marks, fear, a “joke” that no one wanted to explain. While we talked, Sofía stared at her shoes and clutched the blanket they gave her as if it were a life preserver.
When the doctor asked her if anyone had hurt her, my daughter remained silent.
