Sofia looked between us, wounded by a history she had never understood.
Marcus finally broke the silence.
“We need that envelope.”
Alexander nodded.
“Now.”
The old childhood house belonged to my sister now, though she had been living in Oregon for almost a year.
The place sat forty minutes outside the city.
We left before dawn.
Marcus drove while Alexander watched every mirror.
Sofia sat beside me wearing borrowed clothes, her injuries hidden beneath a hooded sweatshirt.
She had barely spoken since the video.
As the city disappeared behind us, she whispered, “Mom.”
“Yes?”
“If Uncle Daniel knew about me when I was little…”
“He probably did.”
“Then why didn’t Dad ever tell me?”
Alexander answered from the front seat.
“Because knowing my family became dangerous.”
Sofia looked at him.
“You keep saying that.”
“I know.”
“Stop deciding what I can handle.”
Alexander turned around.
For a moment father and daughter stared at each other.
