Sofia called on a Wednesday.
Not through a lawyer. Not through a letter. Her number on Camila's phone, which Camila still had from the original contract period and had never deleted, not because she was waiting for the call but because deleting it felt like a superstition and she wasn't a superstitious person.
It was eleven in the morning. Daniel was at school. She was at the kitchen table with the anatomy chapter.
She looked at the number for three rings.
She answered.
The silence on the other end lasted two seconds — the specific silence of someone who had prepared for this call and was now recalibrating because the prepared version had assumed voicemail.
"You answered," Sofia said.
"Yes."
"I didn't—" A pause. "I expected to leave a message."
"I know." Camila looked at the anato
