The morning Isabel Rodriguez learned her father had left was unremarkable in every other way. Spring sunshine filtered through threadbare curtains, dust motes dancing in the beams of light that warmed the small living room of their apartment. She was ten years old, standing in the kitchen doorway with sleep-tousled hair, expecting to find her father at the table with his usual cup of black coffee and the newspaper spread before him.
The morning Isabel Rodriguez learned her father had left was unremarkable in every other way. Spring sunshine filtered through threadbare curtains, dust motes dancing in the beams of light that warmed the small living room of their apartment. She was ten years old, standing in the kitchen doorway with sleep-tousled hair, expecting to find her father at the table with his usual cup of black coffee and the newspaper spread before him.
