A young woman stood on my doorstep, in her early twenties, with dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and a worn backpack slung over one shoulder. She looked nervous.

I opened the door partway. “Can I help you?”

She stared at me for a moment. “Are you Rosa Delgado?”

Something about her face was familiar. The shape of her jaw. “Who’s asking?”

“I’m Sophia. Sophia Delgado.” She paused, swallowed. “I’m Daniel’s daughter.”