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?”…

door.

It was a standard-issue flyer, the paper crinkled and worn at the edges. A photograph. Her delicate, unmistakable features. Her true, given name. And a single, damning word stamped across the top in aggressive crimson ink:

SEARCHING.

The front door groaned open on heavy hinges, and the woman strolled in, casually humming a discordant, off-key pop continue reading …