“These people?” I said, my voice cutting through the quiet room.

Patricia didn’t look at me; she kept her eyes locked on my father’s face, searching for any sign of agreement.

“We have to protect our home, Emiliano,” Patricia whispered, her hand sliding down to clasp his fingers. “I was just about to call the police to have them sort this out.”

My father looked down at her hand on his, then slowly looked back up into her eyes.

He did not pull away, but he did not squeeze her hand back either.

“The police,” my father repeated slowly.

“Yes,” Patricia said, nodding quickly. “It is the only proper way to handle a theft of this scale.”

She looked over her shoulder at Rosa, her expression hardening for a brief second before softening again as she turned back to my father.

“I know how much Rosa means to the girls, but we cannot have a criminal living under our roof,” she said.

Martina let out a small sob, burying her face against my shoulder.

“Rosa is not a thief!” Martina cried out, her voice cracking with emotion.