No one says anything at breakfast. We hardly even look at each other. Sophie eats quickly, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s because Amy added some strawberries to her cereal in an attempt to get her to eat something, or if the anticipation of talking to Ma and Pa is what has given her a much-needed boost.

“Are you ready to call them now?” she asks me the instant I finish washing our dishes.

“I am, Sophie,” I answer. “But it’s probably better if I talk to them on my own.”

I’m expecting her to protest, but she doesn’t. She nods once, and her eyes follow me as I make my way into the smaller bedroom. As soon as I close the door, though, I hear Sophie’s soft footsteps approaching it, and I can just picture her standing outside, trying to listen in on what Ma, Pa, and I are about to say.

Sitting down on the air mattress, I try to prepare myself for what’s coming. I’m about to lift my phone up to my ear when, suddenly, it starts buzzing in my hand, and my mom’s name appears on the screen.

“Hi, Ma,” I answer. “I was just about to call you.”

“Mateo,” she replies. There’s something in her voice that makes me think something terrible has happened. She sounds weak, just as she did when she would call us from the detention center in Buffalo. “Mateo, he’s gone.”

I choke on my own words. “Gone?” is the first thing I’m able to say. “Ma, who are you talking about?”

“Your dad,” she answers. “He… he left to go to Mexico City.”

“Ma, that doesn’t make sense,” I say, my heart pounding. “What happened, exactly?”

Ma takes a deep breath, and I hear the way her chest shakes as she lets the air out. “I woke up this morning and found a note on his side of the bed.”

“What did it say?”

“I had to go to the city. I’ll call as soon as I can, Ernesto.”

“Why?” I ask, my voice rising. I don’t even think about the fact that my sister is standing right outside the door. I don’t care that she can hear everything I’m saying. “Why would he even do that?”

Through the phone, I hear my mom struggle. A sound leaves her, but she doesn’t say anything. It’s almost as though she’s choking, trying but failing to get the words out.

“Tell me,” I say. “Why did he leave?”