It was… a deep unease.
The following night, I decided to go home earlier than usual.
I didn’t warn you.
I didn’t call.
I simply closed the shop early, took an old taxi, and returned to our street while it was still light.
The house was silent.
There was no television.
There was no laughter.
Only the sound of water running from the bathroom.
I entered slowly.
The bathroom door was not completely closed.
There was a small crack.
The white light escaped into the hallway.
My heart began to beat strongly.
I approached.
And… I looked inside.
Alejandro was kneeling next to the bathtub.
Sofia stood small, her shoulders trembling slightly.
On her arms, the bruises were more visible than ever.
Alejandro held a warm towel, gently passing it over each mark.
Her voice was low, calm… almost comforting.
“It’s okay… you’re very strong,” I told her. “Don’t let them see you cry.”
Sofia said nothing.
She just stood still.
Like a small statue.
As if she were already used to putting up with it.
Then…
I didn’t see a dangerous man.
I saw another truth.
A little girl who was being hurt… every day… outside this house.
And a man who was trying to protect her in the only way he knew how.
But what left me speechless…
It wasn’t the bruises.
They were Sofia’s eyes.
