After breakfast, the three of them left the house.
Her husband drove.
Their daughter sat in the back seat, her backpack beside her and an expression that suggested she still wasn't convinced she should have to go to school.
The psychologist sat beside her husband.
For a few minutes, they talked about little things.
Traffic.
Work.
The dog.
The birdseed.
Then her husband asked:
— Are you really going to pick her up today?
— I am.
He smiled.
— She'll like that.
— I know.
— You've been working too much lately.
She remained silent for a few seconds.
He didn't need to explain.
Ever since Aurora had appeared, almost every day of her life had been consumed by the camp, the tests, the meetings, and the attempts to understand a girl who simply floated.
Their daughter had noticed.
So had her husband.
— It's been a while since you picked her up, — he said.
— I know.
— She misses you.
— I know.
He glanced at her.
— Then today is a good day to start again.
She smiled.
— It is.
The car arrived at the school.
The girl opened the back door.
— Bye, Mom.
— Bye.
— You're really going to pick me up?
— I am.
— On time?
— On time.
The girl closed the door.
Her husband rolled down the window.
— Have a good day, sweetheart.
— Bye, Dad.
She walked through the school gate.
The two of them watched her for a few seconds.
As her husband pulled away, he said:
— I think you're happy.
— I am.
— So is she.
The psychologist looked out the window.
Perhaps it was just an ordinary morning.
Perhaps, after so many weeks, she was finally managing to return to a routine.
Her husband changed the subject.
— Do you remember that trip last year?
She laughed.
— Don't start.
— I was just going to mention it.
— You left our daughter at a gas station.
— We left her.
— You left her.
— We both left her.
She burst out laughing.
— She was furious.
— She had every right to be.
— She did.
— At least the military didn't have to search for our daughter.
She looked at him.
— Don't joke about that.
— It was just a joke.
She laughed again.
It was an absurd memory, but an ordinary family one. The kind a family tells for years.
The previous year, they had stopped at a gas station during a trip.
They went inside the store.
Talked.
Bought a few things.
Returned to the car.
They only realized what had happened several miles down the road.
Their daughter was furious.
Fortunately, an employee at the gas station had called the police, and everything had ended well.
Back then, it had seemed like a catastrophe.
Now it seemed almost funny.
The car passed the spot where she would be picked up at the end of the day.
The psychologist checked her watch.
It was still early.
Her husband slowed down.
— Is this where you'll be staying?
— Yes.
She looked at him.
— Thank you.
— Today, you're picking her up.
— Today, I'm picking her up.
They said goodbye with a quick kiss.
She opened the door.
— See you later.
— See you.
The car drove away.
She was alone.
A few minutes later, a military vehicle stopped in front of her.
A soldier opened the rear door.
She got in.
The vehicle pulled away.
This time, there was no conversation.
The road to the complex was long.
The psychologist looked out the window.
The silence inside the vehicle seemed greater than it should have been.
As they approached the restricted area, people began to appear.
First a few.
Then dozens.
Then hundreds.
Cars were parked along the roadside.
Tents.
Banners.
Signs.
People camping out.
Some held cameras.
Others held religious images.
Others simply watched.
The vehicle's radio was on.
— ...authorities remain unable to explain the phenomenon involving Aurora, the young girl with an otherwise ordinary appearance who continues to float approximately fifty centimeters above the ground...
The psychologist looked out the window.
One banner read:
THE END OF THE WORLD HAS BEGUN.
Farther ahead:
AURORA IS OUR SALVATION.
Another:
SHE IS NOT HUMAN.
And another:
THE CHILD FROM THE SKY.
The radio continued.
— ...researchers confirm that the young girl continues to show no apparent signs of physical deterioration. According to information released this morning, Aurora is still breathing, eating normally, and displaying apparently human behavior...
The psychologist turned down the volume.
The vehicle passed an area where groups had set up tents.
There were people involved in ufology.
Spiritists.
Religious believers.
People claiming to have received messages in their dreams.
Men with improvised equipment pointed toward the sky.
An enormous banner read:
AURORA CAME FROM ANOTHER PLANET.
Right after it:
AURORA DOES NOT BELONG TO THIS WORLD.
Farther ahead, there was a group claiming the whole thing was a global conspiracy.
She even saw people arguing about the curvature of the Earth.
She stopped paying attention.
What had begun as an inexplicable apparition had already turned into all of this.
Religion.
Theory.
Commerce.
Spectacle.
The psychologist spotted a stall selling T-shirts bearing Aurora's face.
Then another selling small statues.
One of them depicted Aurora dressed in white, her hands resting at her sides, floating above a small base.
She looked like a saint.
Another stall sold little medals.
Bracelets.
Keychains.
Pictures.
Someone was selling a small refrigerator magnet made with a 3D printer.
It was Aurora.
Dressed in white.
Floating.
The little figure had been made to look exactly as she appeared in the forest.
The psychologist stared at it.
It bothered her more than it should have.
Not because it was offensive.
It was simply happening too fast.
Aurora had been there for only a few weeks.
And an entire industry had already sprung up around her.
A vendor was shouting:
— Last few remaining! The original Aurora image!
Another was selling food to the people camping nearby.
There were vendors selling coffee, water, blankets, and raincoats.
The girl's presence had already created a small town around the camp.
The radio volume suddenly rose again when the driver adjusted the controls.
— ...some religious groups have begun calling Aurora Our Lady of the Apparition. Others claim her presence represents a spiritual threat. Experts remain divided over the origin of the phenomenon...
The psychologist turned off the radio.
She kept looking outside.
In the middle of the crowd, she saw a child holding a small statue of Aurora.
The child was staring toward the forest.
As if waiting for the girl to do something.
But Aurora did nothing.
She simply floated.
Just as she had every day.
Without raising a hand.
Without speaking.
Without threatening anyone.
Without asking for anything.
The psychologist thought of her daughter.
Her backpack.
Her promise to pick her up.
The little complaint that morning.
For a moment, she wanted to go back home.
The vehicle passed through the final checkpoint.
The soldiers opened the gate.
The crowd fell behind them.
Ahead lay the military complex.
Tents.
Generators.
Antennas.
Equipment.
Floodlights.
Medical tents.
Makeshift laboratories.
And, at the center of it all, beyond the structures and the people, stood Aurora.
Still floating.
Still motionless.
As if the entire world had come to her.
And she had never asked anyone to come.
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