Sofia stepped aside and gestured for him to enter. The apartment was small and sparsely furnished. A single lamp illuminated the living area. A mattress lay against one wall. The kitchen held little more than a kettle and an empty pot on the stove. Jonathan noticed the absence of personal items that suggested stability.
“I apologize for the condition of the place,” Sofia said softly. “It has been a difficult few months.”
Jonathan nodded, his gaze drawn to the children. “How many children do you have,” he asked.
“Three,” she replied. “Lucas, Maribel, and the baby is Ana.”
The oldest boy stood straighter. “My sister was sick,” he said suddenly. “Mama stayed with her.”
Jonathan noticed a makeshift bandage on the boy’s forearm.
“What happened to your arm,” he asked.
Lucas hesitated before answering. “I fell,” he said. “It hurt, but Mama fixed it.”
Sofia lowered her head. “I could not take him to the clinic,” she admitted. “I missed work last week, and there was not enough money left.”
Jonathan felt something tighten in his chest. “And your husband,” he asked carefully.