26
The little boy had not stopped talking the whole way.
Amelia was in the back of the car, sitting next to him, answering his particular questions while Maximiliano drove, listening to them in silence. Not even with him did she talk that much, not even that, with enough confidence as from someone she had known all her life.
From time to time, the gazes of both adults brushed against each other. They said nothing, but their eyes screamed a lot of things that, in a way, neither wanted to decipher.
They looked like any happy family, but they weren't even a family.
"Dad taught me to read," Dylan said, haphazardly pulling out one of the notebooks his father had stuffed into that overstuffed backpack.
Amelia bit her lips, why had he bought so many notebooks for a little boy of only four? She laughed to herself, something told her that just because he had a son, didn't mean he knew too much about children.