The crystal chandeliers of the Grand Ballroom in downtown Chicago shimmered overhead, casting a golden glow over the clinking champagne flutes. The room smelled of expensive cologne, old money, and success. Javier Sterling stood at the center of it all, a fountain pen in his hand, the ink still wet on a contract that would secure his firm’s future for the next decade. The German investors were smiling, raising their glasses in a toast to the new partnership.
“To a prosperous future, Javier,” Herr Muller said, his accent thick and jovial.
“To the future,” Javier replied, forcing a smile. He felt the vibration in his pocket again. It was the fifth time in forty minutes.
Javier was a professional. He didn’t check his phone during closings. It was a rule. But a persistent, nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach—a father’s instinct—clawed at him. He excused himself with a polite nod, stepping away from the circle of congratulations and moving toward the carpeted hallway where the noise of the gala faded into a dull hum.
He pulled out his phone. Five missed calls. Five voicemails. All from Sofia.
It was 6:00 PM on a Tuesday in November. Outside, the Chicago sky had opened up, unleashing a freezing, relentless rain that was turning into sleet. The temperature was dropping rapidly, hovering just above freezing.
Javier pressed play on the first message. He brought the phone to his ear, his other hand loosening his silk tie.
“Dad… please… hurry and come home. I’m freezing… and Raquel won’t let me change…”
The voice was small. Thin. It was the sound of a child who had been crying for a long time and had no energy left.
Javier froze. He stared at the wall, the pattern of the wallpaper blurring. Raquel. His wife of two years. Sofia’s stepmother.
He pressed play on the second message.
“Dad… she let me in… but she won’t let me take off my wet clothes. She made me sit on the sofa like this… soaking wet… and she went to sleep… she said I’ll ruin the floor if I move…”
A coldness that had nothing to do with the weather spread through Javier’s veins. It started in his chest and shot down to his fingertips. He didn’t wait to hear the rest. He didn’t go back to say goodbye to the investors. He didn’t grab his coat from the cloakroom.
He turned and sprinted.
“Mr. Sterling? Sir?” his assistant, Michael, called out, chasing him toward the lobby. “The dinner is about to start! Where are you going?”
“Emergency,” Javier barked, not breaking his stride. “Cancel everything. Get them gifts. I don’t care. Handle it.”
He burst through the revolving doors and into the biting wind. The valet saw the look on his face—a look of pure, unadulterated panic—and scrambled to retrieve the black Mercedes.
As Javier tore out of the city and onto the highway leading toward the wealthy suburbs of Lake Forest, the rain hammered against the windshield like handfuls of gravel. The wipers slashed back and forth, fighting a losing battle.
He put the phone on speaker, needing to hear her, needing to know she was still conscious. He played the third message.
“Dad… I’ve been sitting here for almost two hours… my lips are purple… my teeth hurt… Raquel said if I move… it’ll be worse…”
Javier gripped the steering wheel so hard the leather creaked. “Hang on, baby,” he whispered to the empty car. “Daddy’s coming.”
He weaved through traffic, ignoring speed limits, flashing his lights at cars that were too slow. The image of Sofia—his sweet, gentle Sofia who still slept with a nightlight—sitting soaked in freezing clothes in their air-conditioned house while Raquel slept upstairs… it made him see red.
Raquel Salgado. He had met her three years after Sofia’s mother had passed away. Raquel was beautiful, charming, and seemed to adore Sofia. She was the perfect hostess, the perfect partner. But lately, Javier had noticed small things. A sharpness in her tone. A lack of patience. But he never imagined… this.
He played the fourth message.
“It’s not fair… it was an accident… I forgot to lock the garage… I was going to miss the bus… please…”
She was apologizing. She was freezing to death in her own living room, and she was apologizing for a garage door.
Then came the fifth message. This was the one that nearly made Javier crash the car.
“Dad… I’m all dizzy… I’m sleepy… but I’m afraid to fall asleep… the teacher said that with hypothermia… they fall asleep and don’t wake up… please… come…”
“No, no, no,” Javier shouted, slamming his hand against the dashboard.
He dialed Raquel. It rang. And rang. And rang.
“Pick up, damn it!”
She didn’t.
He dialed the landline. No answer.
He dialed Raquel again. Voicemail.
“Raquel,” Javier said, his voice terrifyingly calm, a low growl that vibrated in the quiet cabin of the car. “I am ten minutes away. You better have a goddamn good explanation for why my daughter is freezing in our living room. If anything happens to her—if she has so much as a fever—I will destroy you.”
He hung up and floored the accelerator.
The house in Lake Forest was dark when he pulled into the driveway, except for the porch light and a dim glow from the living room. The rain was coming down in sheets now, mixing with ice.
Javier didn’t bother with the garage. He left the car running in the driveway, the door open, and ran to the front door. He fumbled with his keys, his hands shaking violently, before finally jamming the key into the lock and throwing the door open.
“Sofia!” he screamed.
The house was cold. Why was the house so cold?
He ran into the living room.
There, on the pristine white beige sofa that Raquel was so obsessed with, sat a small, trembling figure.
Sofia was curled into a tight ball. She was wearing her school uniform—a skirt and a sweater—and they were dark with water. A puddle had formed on the expensive rug beneath her feet. Her hair was plastered to her skull.
She wasn’t moving.
“Sofia!” Javier dropped to his knees, disregarding the wet rug, and grabbed her shoulders.
Her skin was like marble. Ice cold.
Sofia blinked slowly, her eyes unfocused. Her lips were a terrifying shade of blue. She looked at him, but it took a second for recognition to dawn.
“D-d-dad?” she stammered, her teeth chattering so hard the words barely came out. “Y-y-you came.”
“I came, baby. I’m here.” Javier pulled her into his arms. Her clothes were soaking wet, chilling him instantly through his suit. “My god, you’re freezing.”
“R-R-Raquel said… don’t m-m-move,” Sofia whispered, tears leaking from her eyes. “I d-d-didn’t move, Dad. I p-p-promise.”
“It’s okay. You can move now. You have to move.”
Javier scooped her up. She felt light, fragile. He could feel the tremors racking her small body.
“Where is she?” Javier asked, his voice echoing off the high ceilings. “Where is Raquel?”
“Up… upstairs,” Sofia whimpered. “S-s-sleeping.”
Javier carried Sofia into the kitchen, cranking the thermostat up to eighty degrees on his way. He set her down on the counter and stripped off his own suit jacket, wrapping it around her, though he knew she needed dry clothes immediately.
“Stay here, baby. Don’t move.”
He ran to the laundry room, grabbed a stack of warm towels from the dryer—thankfully, the housekeeper had run a load earlier—and rushed back. He peeled the wet sweater and shirt off her shaking frame, wrapping her in the warm towels. He rubbed her arms, her legs, trying to generate friction, trying to bring the blood back.
“Is that better? Can you feel your toes?”
“It h-h-hurts,” she cried. “Like needles.”
“That means the blood is coming back. That’s good.” Javier kissed her forehead. It was clammy.
He pulled his phone out and dialed 911.
“I need an ambulance. Possible hypothermia. 8-year-old female. Yes. Conscious but lethargic.” He gave the address.
Once he knew help was on the way, a different kind of energy took over him. It wasn’t fear anymore. It was a cold, calculated rage.
“Sofia, I’m going to carry you to my bed. It’s warmer there. I need you to stay under the covers.”
He carried her upstairs to the master bedroom. He tucked her into the heavy down comforter, piling pillows around her.
“Dad?” she asked, grabbing his hand. ” Is Raquel… is she going to be mad?”
Javier looked at his daughter, terrorized in her own home.
“No, sweetie,” Javier said softly. “She’s not going to be mad. She’s going to be gone.”
He walked out of the bedroom and closed the door gently. Then, he walked down the hall to the guest room—Raquel’s “nap room.”
He didn’t knock. He kicked the door open.
The sound was like a gunshot.
Raquel jolted awake in the bed, pulling her silk eye mask up. She looked at him, confused, blinking in the sudden light from the hallway.
“Javier?” She sat up, pulling the duvet over herself. “What are you doing? You scared me to death! You’re not supposed to be home for hours. How did the closing go?”
She looked comfortable. Warm. Dry.
Javier stood in the doorway, water dripping from his hair onto the hardwood floor. He was breathing heavily, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
“Get up,” he said.
Raquel frowned. “Excuse me? Why are you looking at me like that? Is something wrong?”
“I said, get up!” Javier roared, the sound so loud it shook the frames on the walls.
Raquel flinched, scrambling out of bed. “Javier, you’re scaring me. What is going on?”
“You left my daughter,” Javier stepped into the room, “locked outside in freezing rain for two hours because of a garage door?”
Raquel’s face paled slightly, but she quickly recovered, crossing her arms. “Oh, that. Javier, stop being dramatic. She forgot to lock it. She needs to learn responsibility. I told her to wait on the porch for five minutes to think about it, and then I… I must have dozed off. It was an accident.”
“And when you let her in?” Javier stepped closer. “When she was soaking wet? You told her to sit on the couch and not move? You wouldn’t let her change?”
“She was dripping everywhere!” Raquel snapped, her defensiveness rising. “That is a four-thousand-dollar custom rug, Javier! I told her to sit still until she stopped dripping so she wouldn’t ruin the hardwood. She’s fine. She’s just being a brat.”
“She has hypothermia, Raquel.”
The silence stretched thin.
“What?” Raquel whispered.
“I just called an ambulance,” Javier said, his voice dropping to a whisper that was far more dangerous than his shouting. “Her lips are blue. She couldn’t feel her feet. She was afraid to fall asleep because she thought she would die.”
“I… I didn’t know it was that cold,” Raquel stammered, stepping back. “I was just teaching her a lesson.”
“A lesson?” Javier laughed, a dark, humorless sound. “You taught her a lesson, alright. You taught her that the woman who is supposed to protect her cares more about a rug than her life.”
He walked over to the closet—Raquel’s closet, filled with designer clothes he had paid for. He grabbed a suitcase from the top shelf and threw it onto the floor.
“Pack.”
“What?”
“Pack a bag. You’re leaving.”
“Javier, you can’t be serious. It’s storming outside! It’s night!”
“I don’t care,” Javier said. “You have five minutes. Whatever you don’t pack, I burn.”
“You can’t do this! I’m your wife!”
“Not for long,” Javier said. “I’m calling my lawyer in the morning. You want to talk about property? Fine. You can have the rug. Take the damn rug. But you will never, ever be in the same room as my daughter again.”
“Javier, please! Where am I supposed to go?” Raquel was crying now, realizing the gravity of the situation. “It’s freezing out there!”
Javier looked at her with eyes devoid of any love.
“I know,” he said. “Wear a coat.”
The paramedics arrived ten minutes later. They wrapped Sofia in thermal blankets and checked her vitals. Her temperature was dangerously low, but she was stable. They wanted to take her to the hospital just to be safe.
As they wheeled Sofia out on the stretcher, Raquel was standing in the foyer, a hastily packed suitcase at her feet, wearing a trench coat. She looked at Javier, pleading with her eyes.
Javier didn’t even look at her. He was holding Sofia’s hand.
“Daddy, is Raquel coming?” Sofia asked weakly.
“No, baby,” Javier said loud enough for Raquel to hear. “Raquel doesn’t live here anymore.”
He walked out the door, into the ambulance, and left his wife standing in the open doorway, facing the bitter, cold night alone.
Six Months Later
The spring sun was shining over Chicago. The park near the lake was full of blooming tulips.
Javier sat on a bench, watching Sofia run across the grass. She was laughing, chasing a golden retriever puppy they had named “Sunny.”
It had been a hard winter. The divorce was messy. Raquel had fought for money, claiming emotional distress. Javier had given her a settlement just to make her go away faster, but he had kept the house, the custody, and his dignity.
He had scaled back at work. He stopped traveling. He was home every day at 3:00 PM when Sofia got off the bus.
Sofia ran back to him, breathless, her cheeks flushed pink—a healthy, warm pink.
“Dad! Sunny found a stick!”
“That’s a great stick, honey,” Javier smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
She leaned into him. “Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for coming home that day.”
Javier hugged her tight, the memory of that voicemail still capable of waking him up in a cold sweat.
“I will always come home, Sofia. No matter what. No deal, no money, nothing is more important than you.”
“I know,” she smiled. “I love you, Dad.”
“I love you too, kiddo.”
He watched her run back to the dog. He had lost a wife, and he had nearly lost a business deal that day. But looking at his daughter, safe and warm in the sunlight, Javier knew he had made the only profit that mattered.
THE END
