When I burst into my home, I burst into the thick, unfamiliar darkness. I paused, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand, and struggled to find the light switch.

"Don't bother," my father's voice rang out softly. "It went out shortly after you left."

I fumbled through the room, following the sound of his voice. "You paid the bill?"

He sighed. "I was looking for it…I thought I had…maybe that was something else…"

I found myself in the kitchen area, and I groped around until I found a crate full of plantains.

Reaching behind it, I took a candle and a match, lighting it quickly. I brought the flickering flame close to my face as I looked around at our disheveled home.

My father rose from where he had been sitting.

"Querida, your face," he swallowed, struggling to make his way to me. "You have been crying?"

I sank to the ground, holding the candle between us.

"I would lie, papi, and say it was nothing just to keep your mind at peace," I said all at once, a warm breath. "But not tonight. S-Señor Vasquez…he, somehow…"

Papá jerked forward, grabbing me by the shoulders.

"What did he do? Are you hurt? If he hurt you I'll—"

"No, no, papi," I sobbed. "Not me, Consuelo. He found us…and…She tried to defend me and…and he shot her!"

I sunk into his embrace, emotionally spent. I noticed he was trembling. Was he frightened? Angry? I could not tell which. Whatever he felt, he could not bring himself to speak.

Finally, I pulled away.

"It's not safe here," I whispered desperately. "What kind of life is this that we are afraid to live?"

His eyes seemed to droop, exhausted.

"What would you have me do, Anita?" he asked timidly. "Leave to el campo, the countryside? Leave…leave Puerto Rico?"

"I don't know," I faltered. "Maybe, someday."

It was his turn to break off, sobbing. I blew out the candle and we held each other in the frightening dark till dawn.