The pine crib rails did not align, leaving a two-inch gap where the corner post should have locked. Marcos Almeida turned the paper instruction manual over, checking the diagram against the actual wooden pieces scattered across the kitchen floor. Beside him, his wife Ana Clara sat on a low stool, slowly folding a pile of tiny yellow onesies.
A gallon of milk costs four dollars now, and the realization of how quickly their savings were shrinking made Marcos twist his silver wedding band around his ring finger.
“We can wait on the mattress,” Marcos said, adjusting his scratchy gray wool suit trousers. He had not changed since coming home from the high school. “The baby will not be here for another two months, Ana.”
“The sale ends at five o’clock, Marcos,” Ana said, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her left ear. Her voice had its usual gentle lilt, but she emphasized her verbs with a quiet intensity. “We must buy the mattress today while the discount applies.”
Marcos picked up a bag of plastic joints. The blue plastic folder containing their household budget sat on the kitchen counter, its edge perfectly aligned with the toaster.
“The store is forty minutes away near the state line,” Marcos said. “Let me go after I finish this frame.”
A sharp, double vibration sounded from the counter. Ana’s phone screen lit up with a text message. She reached for the device, her fingers moving quickly, and her face went completely pale.
“I have to go now,” she said, her voice dropping an octave as she stood up. “My brother needs to meet me near the highway gas station.”
“Gustavo?” Marcos asked, looking up from the wooden post. “Why would you meet him there?”
