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?”…

disarray. She was barefoot, having seemingly lost or abandoned her footwear in her frantic rush. Her dark hair was wildly untamed, and her face was a devastated landscape of agonizing hope and paralyzing terror.

The precise millisecond her frantic gaze locked onto Milagros, huddled in the grey wool blanket beside me, Ana Lucía emitted a sound that will continue reading …