Sofia padded away, the cardigan whispering along the carpet, the necklace clicking softly against itself. When her footsteps reached the stairs, Elena stood. She set the perfume bottle on the coffee table between them like evidence. Marco remained on the sectional, laptop shut, hands open on his knees as if he had been caught mid-prayer.
"Elena—"
"Where did she go after the ride?" Elena repeated, and this time there was no softness left to borrow.
Marco swallowed. Outside, a car hissed past through the standing water. The framed photos watched them with their frozen smiles. He looked at the toy basket, then at the reading lamp, then finally at his wife.
"To the bus stop on Lancaster Avenue," he said. "She asked me to drop her there. I did. That was it."
"That was it," Elena echoed. The words tasted like metal. "A woman was in your car. Our daughter found her perfume. You closed your computer like a man with something to hide. And you want me to believe that was it."