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?”…

hum of the police station—the ringing phones, the clacking keyboards, the murmuring officers—ceased to exist.

Then, Ana Lucía began to vocalize. It was soft at first, a trembling, melodic hum that slowly morphed into a tender, familiar lullaby.

Milagros went completely rigid. Her pale lips began to quiver uncontrollably.

“Mama?”

Ana Lucía’s knees buckled continue reading …