Uncle Jorge shakes his head at both questions. “Not now. We might be able to go visit them at some point, but I can’t say for sure.”

“How about calling?” I say. “They have to be allowed calls.”

“There are numbers we can try,” says Uncle Jorge. “But I already tried them, and I didn’t have much luck.”

“So… what now?”

“I’m not sure how this is going to work,” Uncle Jorge says, running a hand through his hair. I can tell he’s trying hard to be calm, to be strong for Sophie and me, but the trembling sigh he lets out gives him away—he’s just as terrified as we are. “Your parents will probably have to go in front of an immigration judge at some point. I’m trying to find a lawyer for them, but I have no idea how much that’ll cost.”

I think of the money I have saved up in the pocket of my old jeans, and I feel a sharp pain in my heart when I realize that’s probably enough to cover only an hour or two of a lawyer’s time.

“We should be learning more in the next few days,” my uncle continues. “In the meantime, you and Sophie will come stay with me and Amy.”

“What?” I say. “We can’t—”

Uncle Jorge shakes his head. “We’ll take care of you while we figure things out.”

“But this is our home, and I—”

“It’ll still be here when you’re ready to come back.”

“What about the baby?”

Jorge has no answer to that. We both know he lives in a tiny two-bedroom apartment, and a new occupant just took over the second room.

“We—we’ll move her crib into our bedroom. We can make space for the two of you.”

I turn to look at Sophie. In her eyes, I can tell she’s torn. Going to stay at Uncle Jorge’s sounds tempting. At the very least, there’ll be food on the table and someone to tell us everything’s gonna be okay. But she also looks scared. I know she doesn’t want to leave our apartment—she wants to wait here for our parents to come back.

“Why do you think your parents called me?” Uncle Jorge says when I’ve been silent for too long. “They asked me to take care of you and Sophie. They want you to come stay with us.”