The morning sun was just hitting the windshield of the sedan when Sonia spoke from the back seat. She was struggling with the zipper of her pink backpack, her small fingers red from the morning chill.
“The man with the black box came in your room again last night,for$ Dad,” she said.
I stopped shifting the car into reverse and looked at her in the rearview mirror. Her face was perfectly flat, her eyes fixed on the plastic zipper she was trying to pull closed.
“What man, Sonia?” I asked, keeping my voice level.
“The one who comes when the clock on the stove says twelve,” she said. “He has a black box with shiny corners. He walks very slowly, like he does not want the floor to make noise.”
My hand slipped from the gearshift and rubbed the gold wedding band on my left ring finger. The metal felt cold against my skin.
