“Yes,” you say. “I want to file a report.”
Your mother makes a sound like you stabbed her.
Daniela starts crying immediately.
Not for you.
For the trip.
Your father steps toward you, but the officer blocks him.
“Sir, stay where you are.”
The agent hands you your boarding pass.
Delta One.
Seat 3A.
The thing they tried to take.
Your hand closes around it.
Then your phone starts buzzing.
Notifications.
Messages.
Bank alerts.
Hotel confirmation reminders.
The Paris reservation.
You open the travel app.
Your mother sees the screen.
“Valeria,” she says quickly, voice suddenly sweet, “let’s calm down. We can talk about this after the flight.”
You look up.
“There is no flight for you.”
Her face crumples.
“You can’t leave us here.”
“Watch me.”
Daniela wipes her tears angrily. “I already posted everything. Everyone knows we’re going to Paris.”
You almost smile.
“That sounds embarrassing.”
Her mouth falls open.
For once, she has no comeback.
The officer guides your father to the side for questioning. Your mother follows, whispering frantically. Daniela stands in the middle of the check-in area with her designer carry-on, looking suddenly small without someone else’s money carrying her forward.
You finish the report.
You cancel the hotel rooms connected to them.
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