Only slightly.
But I noticed it.
Sofia climbed onto the edge of the sofa without asking permission.
“What happened?”
“Sofia,” Maria said quietly.
“It’s fine.”
Maria looked at me.
I turned back toward the little girl.
“I remembered someone.”
“Who?”
“My mother.”
Sofia thought about this.
“Is she in heaven?”
The question was so innocent that it nearly unraveled me again.
“She d!ed a long time ago.”
“My daddy died too.”
Maria closed her eyes.
“Sofia.”
The child glanced over her shoulder.
“What?”
“Come here, please.”
“But Mr. Daniel is sad.”
“I know.”
“Then he needs somebody.”
Maria’s lips parted.
No words came.
I felt something unfamiliar pass through the room.
Not warmth exactly.
Warmth was too simple a word for it.
It felt like a door opening inside a house that had remained locked for decades.
Sofia gently patted the blanket.
“You can keep this one tonight.”
A laugh escaped before I could stop it.
It sounded unfamiliar.
Almost rusty.
“That’s generous.”
“It’s the soft one.”
“I noticed.”
She nodded solemnly.
Then she climbed down.
Maria reached out for her hand.
“Go upstairs and brush your teeth.”
“But—”
“Please.”
Sofia looked back at me.
“Good night, Mr. Daniel.”
“Good night, Sofia.”
She walked three steps, then turned around.
