Sofía creeps close and wraps her arms around you as if she can glue you together.
“Does it hurt, Daddy?” she whispers, and your heart breaks because you know she’s asking more than that.
You force a smile, smooth her hair, and lie, because you’ve always been good at lying.
Marina adjusts the cushion behind your back, sets a glass of water within reach, and straightens a rug you didn’t even notice was crooked.
She does it all without performance, without pity, without making you feel like a project.
That’s what unnerves you most—she helps like it’s normal, like you’re human.
You open your mouth to ask how she knew exactly what to do.
She redirects Sofía to her drawings with a gentle authority that makes you feel oddly safe.