I looked around my sister Mariana’s living room. Pink balloons floated near the ceiling. My niece Lucía was opening presents sitting on the floor, while her aunts and uncles laughed and recorded with their cell phones, saying that the video was going straight to the family group chat.
—At my sister’s house—I repeated. It’s Lucia’s birthday. The whole family is there.
Silence.
Too long.
“Listen to me carefully,” he finally said. “Take Emma and get out of that house. Right now.”
I felt a knot in my stomach that took my breath away.
“What’s happening, Daniel?”
“Do as I say,” he ordered. “Don’t ask questions. Just leave.”
Daniel never raised his voice. He never panicked. We had been married for eight years, and it was the first time I had ever heard real terror from him, a terror that couldn’t be faked.
—Daniel…
—Sara! —she shouted—. I don’t have time. Grab our daughter and get out of here immediately
I didn’t argue.
I couldn’t.
I walked quickly across the room, forced a smile that hurt my face, and picked up Emma, who was six years old.
“Let’s go to the bathroom,” I said to Mariana, trying to sound normal.
She nodded, distracted, busy arranging disposable plates.