I broke into a house in Coyoacán to steal, but found a blind girl tied to a chair. She whispered, “Did my mom come back to sell me again?” I decided to steal her back instead. As we reached the front door, heavy footsteps echoed from the dark hallway, and a voice growled, “Who is in there?”…

low growl of protective fury vibrating in my chest. “Who would do this to you?”

Her voice plummeted into a fearful, barely audible register. “The woman. The one who parades me around and declares to the crowds that I am her daughter.”

My blood turned to glacial ice. The implications of her words painted a horrifying tableau of exploitation and imprisonment.continue reading …