A heavy, furious pounding that made Emma flinch so hard she nearly fell off the table.
“Mariela!” Andrés shouted from the front. “Open the door!”
The doctor’s face hardened.
He took out his phone.
“I’m calling the police.”
I almost said no.
Almost.
That old, stupid instinct rose up in me.
The instinct to soften things.
To explain.
To avoid scandal.
To think of family reputation.
To wonder if maybe I had misunderstood.
But then Emma buried her face in her bunny and whispered:
“I’m sorry, Mommy. I tried to be good.”
And that old instinct died.
It died completely.
I crouched in front of her.
I took her little face in both my hands.
