I looked from one face to the other.
Then I started walking toward the bedroom door.
“Sofia, wait.”
Nathan grabbed my wrist.
I pulled away.
“Don’t touch me.”
“But—”
“Who is downstairs?”
He swallowed.
“I can explain.”
“Then explain.”
“She wasn’t supposed to come here.”
That sentence was enough.
I walked into the hallway.
Nathan followed me.
“Sofia, please.”
I continued toward the stairs.
Margaret rushed ahead of me.
“Let me handle this.”
I stopped.
“No.”
She turned.
“You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“I know exactly what I’m doing.”
I walked past her.
One step.
Then another.
My bare feet touched the cold wooden stairs.
The woman’s voice came again.
“Nathan?”
I reached the bottom.
And there she was.
A young woman standing in my living room.
She was holding a small overnight bag.
She looked nervous.
She couldn’t have been more than thirty.
