The next morning, Sofía got dressed slowly.
She chose an oversized button-up shirt and skintight, high-waisted jeans. For a moment, she considered tucking the shirt in it would look nice, she thought but the echoes of mocking laughter and cruel chants of fatty rang too loudly in her head. The idea withered before it could take shape, and she left the shirt hanging loose, hiding her body the way she always did.
In the kitchen, she made herself a strong cup of coffee, toast, and a fried egg. She ate in silence.
She had time for breakfast only because Alfonso had come by early that morning his flight was in an hour. They had clung to each other, cried together, and he had drilled her relentlessly with safety advice, warning her to be cautious at all times.
Then he left.
