I have no idea what to say. I don’t know how to make sense of the anger I feel when I hear his voice. All I can do is lower my phone with a shaking hand and put him on speakerphone.

“I got Jorge’s voicemail,” he says.

I turn to look at my uncle, who nods once. “After you and I got off the phone, I tried calling your parents. I figured they needed to know about what’s going on.”

“Where is she?” Pa asks, his voice loud and desperate. “What happened to Sophie? How could she be gone?”

“I don’t know, Pa.”

Somewhere deep down, I feel something that doesn’t make sense, that doesn’t belong at a moment like this. Even though my sister is gone, and I’m furious at my dad for leaving us with no answers, I also feel a glimmer of hope, because at least he’s here. Even if we can only talk through a phone, he’s with me, and he’s gonna help us figure out this mess.

“Why did you leave?” I ask, my voice breaking. “Why haven’t you called?”

“I’ve been trying to find work in the city. I was tired of fighting, of not having answers for all of you. I needed to come here and… and do something so you and Sophie could come live with us. I’m still trying to find a job, but—but I’ll figure something out. I’m sorry I didn’t see it before. You were right—Sophie needs to be with us.”

We remain frozen on the line for a moment, allowing all the things we can’t say to float in the silence between us—the longing we’ve felt for months, how sorry we both are for what happened the last time we talked, and the hope we’re starting to feel for a future where we’ll all be together again.

“I need you to think, Mateo. When was the last time you spoke to your sister? Has she said anything to you?”

Looking back on the last couple of days, I can’t think of anything that has seemed different about Sophie. She’s been quiet, as she has been for weeks. But then I remember the conversation we had on the first morning we woke up at Kimmie’s place. I think of the disappointment in her eyes when I told her that we were gonna have to wait a bit longer to know whether we could go to Mexico or not.

“The other day, she asked me if we could go live with Ma. She wanted to go be with her in Puebla while we figured everything else out, but I tried to explain to her that—”

“This is my fault,” Jorge interrupts me, running a hand across his forehead. “You kids should’ve never left our apartment. If we hadn’t—”

“Jorge, don’t—”