When I get back to Jorge’s that evening, the apartment is eerily quiet.

Amy is sitting at the kitchen table, holding Ellie tight against her chest. Jorge is leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, and Sophie is in the living room, staring out the window. None of them seem to have noticed me walking in, but when I close the door and the lock clicks softly into place, they all turn toward me with blank looks on their faces.

“What’s going on?” I ask. I almost don’t want to hear the answer to that question. I’m still feeling weak from the breakdown I had at the park.

“We just talked to your parents,” Jorge says, uncrossing his arms.

The way Sophie turns back toward the window tells me everything I need to know. It’s not hard to imagine the things Pa must’ve said during the call.

“Are you okay, Sophie?” I ask, but she doesn’t even look at me.

The apartment remains silent for the next couple of hours. The only one who doesn’t seem to know something is wrong is Ellie, who just cries like nobody’s business. The second Amy gets her to calm down, though, we go back to it—to the silence, to the tension, to the fear that we’ve been breathing since I walked into the apartment.

In the end, Sophie announces that she’s going to bed early, and none of us tries to stop her. I’m left to have dinner alone with Jorge and Amy, which is the last thing I feel like doing right now.

While we sit around the table, I look at their faces carefully, trying to figure out what they’re thinking. Amy is cutting her food into even smaller pieces than usual, but her expression doesn’t give anything away. I wonder if she secretly agrees that Sophie and I should go to Mexico. I could see her getting behind that decision, especially if it meant that she and Jorge could go back to raising Ellie in peace. As for Jorge, I have no idea what’s going through his mind, but I have a feeling he’ll take my dad’s side no matter what, and the possibility that he might stops me from asking for their advice.

Later that night, when I’m getting into bed, I notice the way my sister is curled up near the corner of the mattress, hogging all the blankets.

“Sophie?” I ask gently as I lie down next to her. “Are you awake?”

I think she might not be. A car honks on the street below, and the sound echoes in the silence of the room. But then she speaks up. “Yeah.”