Chesca holds up her paper. "Look! It's almost done!"
The butterfly is crooked with one wing larger than the other, but the shape is unmistakable. She's gotten better every day, a little more precise with each fold.
"Nice work, Hime."
She beams. "Can we go to the park later? You promised."
I'm certain I don't remember promising. But the hope in her face makes the truth irrelevant.
"After breakfast. If your mom says yes."
Angelina shrugs one shoulder, coffee cup held in both hands like she is warming herself. "I say yes."
"YES!" Chesca pumps her fist, nearly crushing the butterfly. She catches herself, smooths the paper with careful fingers, and shoots me a guilty look.
I shake my head. "Finish your breakfast first. I need to grab the cooler from the truck." I wipe my hands on the dish towel. "Back in a minute."
"Mm-hmm." Angelina is distracted, fork halfway to her mouth, eyes on Chesca's butterfly.
I pass behind Chesca's chair and drop a kiss on the top of her head without thinking. Her hair smells like the strawberry shampoo Angelina buys, sweet and childish and achingly normal.
"You missed Mamma."
I stop.
This kid sees everything.
Angelina is trying not to smile behind her mug and failing miserably. The gold flecks in her eyes catch the morning light.
I cross to her and cup her face in my hand. Kiss her properly with coffee and warmth and the soft sound she makes against my mouth that I've learned to listen for.
"Gross," Chesca announces, but she is giggling.
"Finish your butterfly." I pull back. Angelina's cheeks are flushed and her lips slightly parted.
I head for the front door, past the bookshelf where Chesca's purple butterfly from yesterday sits next to the yellow crane Angelina took from my box, the one I made when Chesca was sick, years ago.
Sunlight pours through the windows onto my family at the table.
My family.The thought settles somewhere deep, like a lock clicking into place.
The morning sun is wrong for what sits on the welcome mat.
My hand stops on the doorknob.
Deadly nightshade vines twisted into a wreath formation, the tiny purple blooms scattered through dark green leaves like drops of poison. Black ribbon winds through the arrangement, holding the delicate vines in place. A white card peeks out from between the leaves, protected by clear cellophane wrapping.
The breakfast I just ate turns to lead in my stomach.
They were here. While we slept. While I held her.
I force my hand off the knob and scan the street. Cars parked along the curb, windows in the houses across the way, rooflines where a spotter could position. Nothing obvious. Nothing that screams threat. But obvious isn't how professionals operate.
I crouch slowly, with one hand near my hip where the gun isn't because I came outside to grab a fucking cooler. I don't touch the flowers. I read the card through the plastic.
Justice delayed is justice denied. The clock is ticking.
The door opens behind me. Angelina on the threshold, the soft intake of breath when she sees my posture.