He woke sometime later and returned to our bedroom.
The next time he arrived home late, he did it again.
Soon it became a habit he had never intended to create.
“I would sit with her because it was the only time I saw her without looking at the clock,” he said.
I felt my anger soften, but it did not disappear.
“Then why did you laugh when I told you she felt someone beside her?”
He was silent.
That was the part he could not explain away with exhaustion.
“Ramón.”
He finally looked at me.
“I was embarrassed.”
“Embarrassed?”
“I knew immediately it might be me.”
The answer stunned me.
“You knew?”
“I wondered.”
“And you said nothing?”
“I thought if I admitted it, you’d tell me to stop.”
“I am telling you to stop.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
“No.
Listen to me.
Mika thinks someone enters her room at night.
She has been afraid because neither of us gave her an explanation.
Missing your daughter does not give you the right to confuse her.”
His jaw tightened, not in anger but shame.
“I know.”
“And if you want time with her, then we change something while she is awake.”
Ramón stared at the camera feed.
Mika had rolled back toward the center of her bed now that she was alone.
Her body looked tiny against the wide mattress.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
I believed him.
But I also knew believing an apology was not the same as fixing the problem.
The next morning, Mika came into the kitchen while I was making breakfast.
She climbed onto a chair and yawned.
“How did you sleep?” I asked.
She thought about it.
“Better after a while.”
Ramón was still home.
Normally, by that hour, he would already be dressed for work or gone entirely.
Instead, he walked into the kitchen wearing an old shirt and carrying Mika’s blue storybook.
She blinked at him.
“Dad?”
“Morning.”
“You’re not at the hospital?”
“Not yet.”
Her whole face brightened.
Then she noticed the book.
“You found it!”
Ramón sat beside her.
“I did.”
Mika grinned.
He looked at me once before speaking again.
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
