Sé fuerte y sé valiente. I repeat the phrase in my mind, trying to convince myself to do precisely that—to be strong, to be brave, but suddenly the words feel so hollow. How much stronger and braver can Sophie and I get? What is there left for us to do, when we’re already trying to be as strong as we can possibly be?

I manage to turn toward my sister and say, “Things will get better,” even though I’m not sure of that myself. “I promise, Sophie.”

She nods once, but she doesn’t look directly at me. I think of how happy she was only a few minutes ago, and I wish I could bring that back. I wish we could give her the birthday she deserves.

“We can’t lose hope,” Ma says. “In five years, we might be able to apply for a visa to go back to the US. We’re just gonna have to be patient.”

Five years. I think of all the things that will have happened by then. If I’m lucky, I’ll be graduating from college. Sophie will be a teenager. Ma and Pa will have forgotten what life was like in New York, and we’ll all have formed new routines that don’t include each other.

I take a deep breath, feeling antsy all of a sudden. For now, we may be able to convince ourselves—and convince Sophie—that everything’s gonna be okay, but I just can’t imagine a life where any of the empty promises we’re making will come true.

I also know my sister. I’m certain that she’s going to bring all of this up again sooner rather than later, and it’ll be up to me to figure out what to say to her when she does.

Sophie goes to sleep early that night. She’s probably exhausted from all the walking we did around Central Park, and all the food, and all the tears she cried whenever she remembered Ma and Pa weren’t there to celebrate her birthday.

Amy and Jorge also look pretty tired. Ellie wasn’t a big fan of the zoo, which meant that they had to take turns carrying her, trying to get her to calm down.

“Thank you,” I say to them while they finish washing the dishes after dinner.

Amy looks up at me. “For what?”

“For trying to give Sophie a normal birthday.”

She doesn’t say anything, but I notice the way her chest deflates, the way the corner of her mouth twists into the smallest of smiles as she dries her hands with a towel.

“Don’t stay up too late, okay?” Uncle Jorge says to me as he follows Amy toward the bedroom.