He turned his head slightly to look at Rosa.

“Rosa,” he said. “Is this true?”

Rosa wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, her shoulders shaking.

“I have served this family for twenty years, Mr. Duarte,” Rosa whispered, her voice trembling. “I would never take anything from this house.”

“She is lying to save herself,” Patricia insisted, her fingers clutching his arm more tightly now. “I found the gold watch from your bedside drawer in her apron pocket, Emiliano.”

She pointed a finger at the counter where a small velvet pouch sat.

I had not noticed the pouch before; it must have been placed there while we were arguing.

“I put it there to show you,” Patricia said, her voice trembling with what she wanted him to believe was distress. “I was shocked, truly.”

My father looked at the velvet pouch on the counter.

The kitchen transition room was silent except for the faint hum of the large stainless-steel refrigerator.

The air felt cold, as if the air conditioning had been turned down to its lowest setting.

My father reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.