« Sofía, » he finally said, « would you mind coming with me to my office while we try to figure out what is happening? »…

The words weren’t asking for sympathy.

They were… steady.

But the handwriting wasn’t.

It shook.

Some letters dragged into each other, ink heavier in places where the hand must have paused too long.

I looked at the girl again.

“Do you know where your mother is right now?”

She hesitated.

Just enough.

“At the hospital.”