***
I spent most of the drive home thinking about Zoya and her father. Despite his gruffness and perpetual frown there was something about him that I liked.
And not just the fact that he was smoking hot.
He loved his daughter, but his refusal to talk about whatever had happened was a problem. I knew from personal experience just how healing it could be to talk through things because it was the only way to come out the other side. That was what had helped me after my brother was murdered.
I pulled into the parking lot and sat in silence for a few moments. Feeling helpless, I called my mom.
“¡Mija!” she answered on the first ring, voice bright and warm. “How’s the new job?”
I smiled, tension already easing from my shoulders. “It’s good. The little girl’s amazing. The dad’s…” I hesitated, searching for a polite word. “He’s stubborn.”
She laughed softly. “Give him grace, Ana. It’s not easy dealing with a child who’s shutting you out. You think you know what to do, and then one day they just stop letting you in.” The hurt and the weight in her voice was an instant pang of guilt.
My chest tightened. “I didn’t mean to complain,Mami. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” she said gently. “I’m not saying this to make you feel guilty, I just want you to think about it from his perspective. He’s hurting too.”
I knew better than most, the effect it had on the parents and still I hadn’t given him any grace. “You’re right.”
“Of course I am, I’m your mother. It’s kind of my thing.” Her laugh was small but genuine. “I am also missing my daughter.”
I laughed to myself. “You’re also as subtle as a sledgehammer.”
Laughter bubbled out of her, loud and amused. “That’s my daughter, too smart for your own good. Come by the restaurant soon, I’m letting Marco put something on the menu.”
“I will. I promised Zoya that you make the best tortillas on the planet.”
“Be careful,” she reminded me in that gentle tone. “You put so much of your heart into your job that you forget to keep a piece of it for yourself.”
“I will,mami, I promise.” I sighed as I got out of the car and grabbed my bag with my free hand. “Love you.”
“Love you too, honey.”
I ended the call and set the car alarm. The night air felt cold, but there was also something else. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I felt on edge. I was already walking towards my apartment while I shoved my phone into my back pocket, but the closer I got, the more that feeling that something wasoffintensified.
Then I froze. My body went completely still.
My door was hanging open, barely hanging on to the hinges.
My heart lurched into my throat before flipping over. I stepped closer, every nerve in my body screaming danger. “Hello?” I called softly, already knowing no one would answer. The place had that vacant feel about it that chilled me to my core.
My living room looked like a tornado had hit it. Furniture was overturned. Couch cushions had been slashed open. Books were torn and scattered across the floor. The word WHORE was spray-painted in red across my wall. SLUT scrawled on the mirror.
My stomach dropped.
My hands fumbled but I managed to grab my phone and call the police. It rang once before someone answered.
“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”
“I—” I swallowed hard. “I just came home and my apartment’s been broken into. It’s… it’s trashed. Someone spray-painted things on the walls.”
“Okay, ma’am. Take a breath for me. What’s your address?”
I rattled it off automatically.
“Are you inside the apartment right now?”
