Ava’s bare legs dangle over the counter’s edge. The tiles are cold. She wants to jump down, but she doesn’t move an inch. On Bardem’s cheek, the wound seeps a pale mix of water and blood. He holds the razor to his jaw and pauses and then pulls the blade across his skin. Slow, exact. The sharp edge scrapes.

He looks at Ava in the mirror. Through the quiet air, his soft voice slips, making its way into her. “Do you want to know what happened to my face?”

Water trickles from the faucet. Flash of blade. Scrape.

Somewhere a dog is barking. Ava looks out the window. A little yellow butterfly appears at the glass. Wings the color of lemons tremble, paper-thin, and behind the wings the sky is soft and blue as a china plate. She holds her breath.

Bardem slides the razor across his cheek, just below the cut. He does not take his gaze from the mirror. “Most men think they could kill another man if they had to. They always think that. Men or women. Either one. But this is not so. No. When the moment comes, they don’t have what it takes. They never do.” He shakes his head. “They don’t see the truth of themselves. They lack the will.”

Ava watches the butterfly. It hovers along the glass against the sky and lands on the window. The wings slowly spread and close. She doesn’t dare blink but then her eyes begin to hurt, and she blinks.

The butterfly is still there.

It is looking right at her.

Bardem cleans the blade and folds the razor and places the black handle on the towel. He takes the brush from Ava and puts it down, and then he lifts her chin, turns her face from side to side, inspects her.

“Here is the truth,” he says. “There is only one.”

Light as air, he runs his fingers down her neck to her chest and stops on the spot just over her heart. “What you put here will make you hurt.”

Ava holds his gaze. In the soft melting light, she observes the gentleness of her father’s eyes. The strange blueness. She sits very still in front of those eyes. Through her nightgown, she can feel his fingertips.

He drops his hand. “Your mother tried to kill me. With a knife from the kitchen drawer. See this cut? She shouldn’t have done that.” His voice is even. Colorless. “Because of what she did, I made her leave. She’s gone now. Do you understand? She isn’t coming back. Ever. She will never come back.”

Sunlight flashes on the mirror. The sink of water and blood. Ava sits holding the monkey. Her feet dangle. Her toes feel tingly. Her legs. Her arms.

“Do you understand?”

Ava nods.

“Say yes.”

“Yes.”