Chapter 20: Rodrigo's POV

Rodrigo's POV

The family center had a room with a rug and a window.

A social worker sat in the corner with a clipboard.

I had learned to arrive early.

Alma brought Camila in on her hip, at three o'clock on Thursday, and put her in my arms without a word.

I did not say anything either.

At the first visit, in the spring, I had held my daughter badly.

Her head had flopped, and Alma had stepped forward before the social worker could.

This time I tucked Camila's head into the crook of my elbow and sat down on the rug.

A nurse had taught me how, on a doll, in the parking lot of the hospital.

Camila looked up at me.

She was seven months old now, with a full head of black hair and her mother's frown.

She grabbed my tie.

She pulled it toward her mouth, and I let her.

"She likes that," Alma said from the doorway.

"She likes anything that costs more than a bottle."

I heard it as I said it.

I waited for the joke to land wrong.

Alma almost smiled.

It was the closest thing to warmth she had given me since the night she left.

I took a folded sheet of paper out of my jacket and held it out.

"This is what I said was not an envelope."

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