“You’re really not angry with me? That I didn’t tell you sooner?”

“We all make mistakes. I hope you’ll be as quick to forgive mine.” He gets up, his face in shadow.

I look up at him, thinking what a strange thing to say. I’m about to ask what he means when he extends his hand, palm up.

“Come, Ivy. Let me take you to bed.”

25

Ivy

Something is wrong. I feel it. The next morning when I wake, I’m alone again. Although I know Santiago got a few hours of sleep, it was still dark when he slipped out of bed.

“We all make mistakes. I hope you’ll be as quick to forgive mine.”

His words keep playing in my head. They’re strange. And they certainly don’t fit Santiago. He isn’t one to forgive mistakes. Or maybe it depends on who has made the mistake? Either way, he is certainly not quick to forgive. The opposite.

I’ve tried to call him multiple times, but my calls only go to voicemail. Just like any time I try to call my father. To say I’m worried is an understatement. At least when I finally managed to talk to a nurse, she told me my father was fine. Just sleeping.

It’s not until two nights later when Eva and I are just finishing dinner that Santiago finally returns home. And by now, I’m angry.

But when I see the look on his face, the weary, dark expression, that anger quickly morphs into something else.

Walking behind him is my obstetrician.

“What’s happened?” I ask, quickly getting to my feet.

Santiago’s expression doesn’t change as he takes stock of me before shifting his gaze to my sister.

“Eva. Go to your room.”

I glance at my sister whose forehead wrinkles with worry. “Why? What’s going on?”

I turn back to Santiago in time to see him gesture to Marco, who comes to Eva. “Come on, kid,” he says, his tone gentler than I’ve ever heard him.

Eva looks at me, and I nod, and once I do, she goes. I’m left in the room with Santiago and the doctor.

“Sit down,” Santiago says as he comes closer, but I just back up a step, wrapping my arms around my middle.

“I hope you’ll be as quick to forgive mine.”

“Where have you been?” I ask.

“Ivy, sit down.” He takes my arms, tries to maneuver me around to the front of the chair.

“What have you done?” The words come out sharper than I mean, the feeling they leave behind dark. Full of dread.

“It’s not like that.”

And I know what it is. What he’s going to tell me. I know exactly.