And he was silent.
That night, I sat next to him in his little bed in our rented house on the outskirts of Guadalajara. The yellow light gently illuminated the room… but inside, everything cooled.
“Does anyone at school make you feel bad?” I asked quietly.
She squeezed her stuffed bunny hard.
And then… the tears started to fall.
My heart stopped.
“Some kids… push me,” he whispered. “They say I’m weak … and I don’t have a real father.”
I felt a lump in my throat.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
Sofia wiped her tears, her voice so low that she almost disappeared.
“Because… Uncle Alejandro says nothing happens.”
No problem?
What if a girl gets hurt? Isn’t that a big deal?
Something inside me started to change. It was no longer just a suspicion.
It was… a deep discomfort.
The next night, I decided to go home earlier than usual.
I didn’t warn you.
I didn’t call.
I just closed the shop early, took an old taxi and went back to our street while it was still light.
The house was quiet.
There was no television.
There was no laughter.
Just the sound of the water coming out of the bathroom.
I slowly entered.
The bathroom door was not completely closed.
There was a little crack.
The white light escaped in the hallway.
My heart started beating hard.
I walked over.
And… I looked inside.
Alejandro was kneeling next to the bathtub.
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