PART 1
“Your daughter wasn’t hurt, Daniel… we just played a prank on her so she’d stop being such a crybaby.”
That was the first thing I heard when I came out of the bathroom carrying Sofía, her little arms wrapped tightly around my neck and her face buried in my shoulder as if the whole world was out to get her.
The party was at my parents’ house, in a quiet neighborhood in Querétaro. My nephew Mateo was turning six, and the patio was filled with blue balloons, plastic tables, soft banda music, and the smell of grilled meat. Everything seemed normal: my aunts and uncles pouring themselves sodas, my cousins talking about work, my mom handing out cake as if that afternoon were a perfect family postcard.
I had brought Sofía because I thought, foolishly, that she would be safe there.
Ever since her mom and I separated, I was careful about every place I took her. Sofía was four years old, shy, sensitive, one of those little girls who hides behind your leg when someone speaks loudly. My sister Claudia always said I was “making her weak.” My mom, as always, agreed.
That’s why, when I stopped seeing her in the yard, I felt a chill in my stomach.
At first, I thought she was playing in the living room. Then I checked the kitchen, the hallway, the guest room. No one seemed worried. “She must be around here somewhere,” said an aunt, still chewing on her toast.
But I knew my daughter’s silence.
I opened the door to the back bathroom and found her crouched behind the toilet, her knees drawn up to her chest, trembling. She wasn’t crying loudly. That was the worst part. Her eyes were open, unfocused, as if she had learned that crying only made things worse.
“Sofi… my love, it’s Dad,” I said, kneeling down.
She was slow to react. When she finally stretched out her arms, she clung to me with desperate strength.
“Don’t leave me here, Daddy,” she whispered.
Then I saw her swollen cheek. Later, as I adjusted the sleeve of her yellow dress, I saw small marks on her arm, too clear to be an accident.
I didn’t ask anything. Not there.
I picked her up and went straight to the living room. The music was still playing. The adults were still laughing. My sister Claudia was on the couch, a drink in her hand, acting like nothing had happened.
“Who did this to her?” I asked.
Claudia let out a dry laugh.
“Oh, Daniel, don’t start. It was a joke. She was whining because she didn’t want to play, and the kids locked her up for a little while. Then I gave her a little scare so she’d learn her lesson.”
I felt my blood run cold.
“A little scare?” I said.
My mom got up quickly, not to look at Sofia, but to tell me to be quiet.
“Don’t make a scene in front of everyone.”
