Sofía hums a tune only she can hear, a jumble of cartoon jingles and the song Mami used to sing. Her small fingers trace the worn pattern on the rug, a faded map of dragons and castles. The sun warms her back through the big living room window. Papá is on the couch, a soft blanket draped over his face, making little puffing sounds. His phone rests on the table, forgotten. This is her time. Her kingdom. She crawls towards the kitchen, a tiny explorer navigating the vast terrain of the apartment. The linoleum feels cool against her knees. She peeks around the corner, confirming Papá's slumber. A giggle bubbles up. He looks like a big, sleepy bear. Usually, he’s awake, humming his own boring grown-up songs or making a funny noise when she asks for a snack. Not today. Today, something different calls to her. The door to Papá's bedroom. It always stays closed, a solid, dark barrier that whispers "no." Mami used to say it was Papá's special space, like her toy box was hers. But today, a thin line of darkness shows along the frame. The door is not fully shut. Her heart does a little tap-dance. It’s a bad door, she knows. A rule door. But the gap is so small, so inviting. It’s like a secret smile. She stares at it, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Her small hands grip the edge of the kitchen counter. A whisper from the hallway seems to call her name. *Sofía.* Slowly, carefully, she pushes herself up. Her legs are a bit wobbly, still accustomed to crawling. She pads across the living room carpet, each step silent, like a spy in a game. The air feels different here, thicker, quieter. The smell of Papá's aftershave, sharp and clean, hangs in the air, mixed with something else, something soft and flowery. She reaches the door. The wood is smooth under her fingertips. She presses her eye to the narrow gap. Darkness. Just a peek. Her breath catches. She pushes a tiny bit more. The door swings inward with a soft, almost soundless sigh. It opens to a world unknown. The room is dim, the curtains drawn. A big, unmade bed dominates the space, a mountain of rumpled sheets and blankets. Clothes are scattered on a chair, a blue shirt tangled with a grey one. Her eyes dart around, taking everything in. It’s not scary. Just... messy. Like her room sometimes. But different. Grown-up messy. A small, shiny object catches her eye on the bedside table. She steps inside, one cautious foot after another. The carpet here is softer than the living room's. She feels a thrill, a delicious shiver of naughtiness. She is in Papá's secret place. She is breaking a rule, but it feels like an adventure. The shiny object turns out to be a watch, big and heavy, with a thick leather strap. Not interesting. Her gaze moves past it, to a tall dresser against the far wall. Its dark wood gleams faintly in the gloom. It has many drawers, more than her toy chest. What secrets could they hold? Papá keeps his important papers there, she remembers Mami saying once. She reaches the dresser, her fingers brushing the cool wood. The handles are small, silver, easy to grip. She tugs at the top one, but it's stuck. She tries the next. It slides open smoothly, revealing a neat stack of white t-shirts. Boring. She closes it, a puff of disappointment escaping her lips. The drawer below that. She tries it. It resists for a moment, then gives way with a soft rumble. Inside, it's not clothes. Not papers. It's a jumble of soft fabrics, colours she doesn't usually see in Papá's wardrobe. Pinks, purples, shiny black. Silky things. Like Mami's pretty scarves, but smaller, shaped strangely. One piece catches her attention. It's light, almost weightless, a shimmering scrap of pink lace. She pulls it out carefully. It has tiny straps and soft cups, like two little bowls sewn together. What is this? A doll's dress? But too big for any of her dolls. Too fancy. It smells faintly of Mami’s perfume, that sweet, floral scent she loves. She holds it up. The lace tickles her nose. It feels so delicate, so different from her own cotton clothes. She tries to imagine Mami wearing it, but it doesn't look like Mami's usual nightgown. This is special. This is *secret* special. She turns it over in her hands, her brow furrowed in concentration. The small, shiny clasp at the back looks complicated. She wants to know what it is for. What game is this? Papá loves games. Hide-and-seek, building towers, telling stories with funny voices. This feels like a puzzle. She decides to keep it for a little while, just to figure it out. She carefully folds the pink lace and tucks it into the pocket of her shorts, a tiny, soft secret against her leg. --- A muffled thump from the living room makes her jump. Papá. Is he awake? Did he hear the drawer? Her heart beats faster, a frantic bird trapped in her chest. She holds her breath, listening. Silence. Maybe he just shifted on the couch. But the thrill of the adventure curdles into a cold, prickly fear. She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t have touched. She glances around, her eyes wide. The room suddenly seems much bigger, darker. The unmade bed looks like a monster, ready to swallow her. Her toy in her pocket feels heavy, a hot coal. She needs to put it back. But the thought of opening the drawer again, of making another sound, makes her throat feel tight. Another sound. This time, it's a soft groan. Definitely Papá. He's stirring. Panic flares. Her eyes dart to the door, still slightly ajar. Too far. Too risky. She needs a hiding spot. Fast. She spots the space under the bed, a dark cavern. Her small size is an advantage. She scrambles on her hands and knees, pushing past a discarded slipper. The dust bunnies are big and fluffy, like little grey clouds. She pulls her legs in, pressing herself against the cool metal frame. The toy in her pocket is a lump, reminding her of her transgression. Her breathing is shallow, ragged. She tries to make herself invisible, hoping the floorboards don't creak. Footsteps. Heavy ones. Coming closer. Her eyes are squeezed shut. She hears the bedroom door swing wider, a soft scrape against the carpet. The light in the room shifts. She peeks through her fingers. Papá's feet. Big, bare feet, with dark hairs on the toes. He's standing right next to the dresser. The dresser she just opened. Her whole body tenses. Is he looking at the drawer? Does he see it's not quite closed? She can hear him breathing, a slow, steady rhythm. He sighs, a deep, tired sound. He shuffles a bit. The floorboards groan softly under his weight. She wishes she could disappear, turn into one of the dust bunnies. Then, she hears a clink. The sound of metal on wood. Papá is doing something. He opens a drawer. Not the one she opened, but one below it. She hears the rustle of fabric. He pulls something out. She can't see what it is. He closes the drawer with a firm click. Her heart rate slowly begins to ease. He didn't see. He didn't notice *her* drawer. He moves again. Away from the dresser. Towards the bathroom door, which clicks shut with a soft snick. The sound of water running. He’s in the bathroom. Relief washes over her, a wave of warmth. She lets out a slow, shaky breath. It was close. Too close. She still has the pink lace in her pocket. She decides to keep it. It's her secret now. Her treasure. --- She crawls out from under the bed, pushing away the cobweb that clung to her hair. Her knees ache a little from the hard floor. The bedroom door is still open, but the bathroom door is closed, water still running. It’s safe. For now. She slips out of the room, her movements quick and silent, like a shadow. Back in the living room, the sun is higher, brighter. The world feels normal again, but she is different. She has a secret. A beautiful, silky, pink secret. She heads straight for her own room, her sanctuary of stuffed animals and brightly coloured blocks. She closes her door firmly behind her. She pulls the pink lace from her pocket. It’s a little wrinkled now, but still soft. She lays it flat on her rug, next to Mr. Snuggles, her favourite teddy bear. The two little cups look even stranger in the bright light of her room. They remind her of the small bowls Mami used for her breakfast cereal, but made of see-through flowers. She tries to put it on Mr. Snuggles, but his furry body is too big, too round. The straps are too small. It slides right off. She frowns. This is harder than it looks. It must be a different kind of game. She remembers seeing Mami wear something like this in a picture once, but it was white, and Mami had smiled a special grown-up smile. Sofía stands in front of her full-length mirror, a gift from Mami so she could practice her dance moves. She holds the pink lace up to her own chest. The cups are too big, covering her completely. The straps dangle. It makes her giggle. She looks silly. It’s not for her. She tries another approach. She spreads it out on the floor. It looks like a butterfly, a pink butterfly with tiny wings. She makes it "fly" around her room, holding it by one strap. It dances in the air, light and graceful. This is a much better game. The "butterfly" flits over her bed, over her toy box, landing finally on her pillow. Papá's voice calls from the living room, "Sofía? Are you okay in there, mi amor?" Her heart leaps into her throat again. She freezes, the pink lace butterfly still resting innocently on her pillow. Did he hear her? Did he know? She glances at the door. Her room. Safe. But the question rings in the air. "Yes, Papá!" she calls back, trying to sound normal, like she’s just playing with her blocks. Her voice is a little too high. Silence for a moment. Then, his footsteps are outside her door. She hears a soft knock. "Can Papá come in for a minute?" Her eyes dart to the pillow. The pink lace. She can’t hide it fast enough. It’s right there, obvious. Her face feels hot. She stares at the door, willing the butterfly to disappear. --- The door creaks open. Papá steps inside, a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair still damp from the shower. He smiles, but his eyes look tired. "What are you doing, little one?" he asks, his voice soft. He glances around her room, taking in the scattered toys, the colourful drawings taped to the wall. His gaze lands on the pillow. On the pink lace. The smile fades from his face. His eyebrows, usually so friendly and bushy, draw together. His eyes widen just a fraction. He doesn't say anything, but the air in the room thickens. The silence stretches, heavy and strange. Sofía clutches her teddy bear, Mr. Snuggles, tighter. She watches his face, trying to read the lines around his mouth, the way his jaw sets. Is he angry? She doesn't understand. It's just a pretty butterfly. A game. "It’s a butterfly, Papá," she says, her voice small, almost a whisper. She points to the lace on the pillow. "I found it. It’s Mami’s, isn't it? It smells like her." His eyes flick from the lace to her face, then back again. His lips part, but no words come out. He looks confused, then something else, something she can't quite name, crosses his features. It's like a cloud passing over the sun. His hand reaches up, running through his wet hair. "Where... where did you find that, Sofía?" His voice is low, different. Not angry, not exactly. But not happy either. It's a quiet, serious sound she rarely hears. She hesitates. She knows she shouldn’t have gone into his room. But it’s just a butterfly. What’s wrong with a butterfly? "In your room," she admits, her eyes fixed on the floor. "In a drawer. It was open a little bit."

Chapter 1: El Secreto Escondido