“I took them in case someone ever asked,” she said. “I’m sorry I didn’t do more.”
“You did more than I did,” I told her.
She sent me every picture.
Part Three: The Folder in the Suitcase
That night, after Sofia fell asleep, I went into the guest room where Elvira had been living for the past year.
I’d never had a reason to go in there. It was her space, and I’d always tried to be respectful. Now I told myself I was only looking for anything else that might hurt my daughter.
Under the bed was a hard-sided suitcase with a small padlock. The key was in the drawer of her nightstand, taped to the underside.
Inside, beneath some folded clothes, was a thick blue binder.
The first page was a list of names. Eight of them. Men and women, all between forty-five and seventy. Next to each name was a short description.
