For a second, my body remembered.
Cold concrete.
A blue shadow around Lily’s lips.
Silence.
Then light from the kitchen spilled down the stairs through the open doorway.
I walked toward it.
Halfway up, Lily shouted my name.
“DADDY! MATEO ATE MY SLICE!”
“I did not!” Mateo yelled.
“You did!”
“It was abandoned!”
“For ten seconds!”
“That’s legally abandoned pizza.”
“Daddy!”
I laughed.
“I’M COMING.”
I reached the top of the stairs.
Beatrice stood in the kitchen, shaking her head at both of them.
Mateo was defending himself with the seriousness of a man accused of international crimes.
Lily pointed dramatically at an empty plate.
The house was noisy.
Imperfect.
Alive.
I stepped through the doorway.
Detrás de mí, la puerta de hierro del sótano seguía abierta.
Permanecería abierto.
Porque eso fue lo que finalmente entendí.
Una casa no se hace segura por la cantidad de cerraduras que pones en sus puertas.
Se hace seguro sabiendo qué puertas nunca deben cerrarse con llave.
Y al saber que cuando alguien a quien quieres grita desde la oscuridad, escuchas.
Tú les crees.
Y tú vienes.
Cada vez.”
