HIS NEIGHBOR WOULDN’T STOP REPORTING THE SOUND OF A GIRL CRYING INSIDE HIS HOUSE—THEN HE HID BENEATH HIS DAUGHTER’S BED AND HEARD HER PLEAD FOR SOMEONE TO SPARE HER

He had not seen Ana in her face so clearly in years. The same dark eyes. The same stubborn chin. The same way pain turned her quiet instead of loud.

“I failed you,” Thomas said.

Her face crumpled. “No—”

“Yes. I did. You were hurting in front of me, and I called it age. I called it attitude. I called it drama because that was easier than admitting something was wrong in my house.”

Lucia began crying silently.