They told Sophia, carefully, in January, that Mommy and Daddy had hurt each other with secrets and were learning how to tell the truth again. They did not use the word affair. Sophia sat on the cream sofa in her lavender hoodie, braid neat, brown eyes too steady for eight, and asked, "Is that why Daddy slept in the other room?"
"Yes," Carlos said.
"Are you getting divorced?"
Amara's almond eyes filled. "We don't know yet. We are trying very hard not to. Trying means changing, not just promising."
Sophia nodded once, a small adult gesture on a child's neck. "Julian shouldn't hear the word divorce. He'll think it means someone is dying."
Carlos felt pride and grief braid together in his chest until he could not tell which strand was thicker. "You're a good big sister," he said.
"I know," Sophia said, and then climbed into his lap as if the conversation had used up her bravery and she needed the ordinary animal comfort of being held.
Spring brought a hard choice that neither therapy nor good intentions could postpone.