Everything blurred around me. The yard disappeared beneath my feet. Sofia’s cries faded, muffled against my chest, as red and blue lights flashed ahead, but I kept running. My heart pounded even harder now.
“Shh, Sofia,” I sobbed. “Everything will be okay.”
My voice broke.
Strong hands grabbed me from behind.
“No,” I screamed. “No.”
Pain exploded through my chest. My body hurt as they turned me around. A tall officer pulled Sofia from my arms. Her cries grew weaker as they took her away. But I was the one screaming now.
“No,” I shouted as he carried her toward the car.2“No, hermanita… no.”
They took part of me with her.
Another officer gripped my arms, and soon after, cold metal closed around my wrists. Sirens grew louder as they neared the street.
“It’s my fault,” I cried. “No. No.”
I dropped to my knees in wet grass.
“Please,” I begged. “Bring her back. Please.”
I looked up at him, locking my eyes with his. My bottom lip shook, saliva spilled as I begged, my words tumbling out broken and desperate.
But he didn’t care.
None of them did.
My words. My story. None of it mattered.
It never did.
I open my eyes. A tear slips down my cheek. I wipe it away quickly, still staring out the window as the world rushes past in streaks of color.
I sniff and bring my shaking hands to my chest, searching for the necklace with the small heart medallion. It’s the only thing left. The only thing I have. The only thing that keeps me grounded.
Simona goes quiet. She notices, but she knows better than to get attached, so she says nothing.
It must be hard to act cold-hearted. Watching kids come and go, never knowing where they will end up. Sleeping well at night because you believe you are doing the right thing, even when you don’t really know.
Kids like me don’t get many chances in life. They call us lucky when someone finally comes back for us. And still, we dream of happy endings.
I should feel lucky. But I am not. I never am.
We all have sins to bury. Some are worse than others. No one is a saint here. And the ones who pretend to be usually fall just as hard as sinners.
The car finally stops.
As we pull in, I see the sign:Del Mar.
A rich neighborhood.
The house in front of us is not just a house. It’s a mansion, surrounded by a vast garden and tall gates. The gate opens, and Simona drives inside. When the car stops again, she exhales and looks at me.
“Carmen,” she says, “some kids never get this chance. Don’t blow it.”
She opens the door and steps out.
