His wife Elena hadn’t survived the void. Cancer took her three years ago, but Alejandro always thought she died the day of the kidnapping; her body just took time to accept the inevitable.
When Detective Morales entered his office, Alejandro felt the same familiar shock: hope and terror mixed together.
“There was an accident on the Mexico-Puebla highway,” Morales said. “A van linked to a child trafficking ring. We found blood. And this…”
He pulled out a bag of evidence containing a piece of a t-shirt.
—The blood matches Diego’s.
The photo slipped out of Alejandro’s hands.
—Is he… alive?
Morales looked at him wearily, but also with determination.
—If he was in that truck… yes. He could be alive.
Alejandro didn’t ask what to do. He was already putting on his coat.
—I’m going with you.
Meanwhile, in the abandoned building, Diego’s fever worsened. The infection in his legs smelled dangerous. Sofia knew he needed a doctor, but Diego clung to her arm with a strength that belied his frail body.
“No hospitals,” he gasped. “They have people everywhere.”
Sofia thought quickly. She remembered Sister Guadalupe, a nun who ran a community kitchen. She didn’t ask names. She didn’t call the police. She just fed people.
“I’ll be back,” Sofia promised. “And don’t open the door for anyone. Only me.” Three knocks… pause… two more.
Diego reached into his torn pocket and pulled out an old medal.
—Give it to my dad… tell him I never stopped believing…
Sofia clutched the medal. On one side it read: “To my little prince, with love, Daddy.”
She ran through the rain, her heart in her throat. She reached the communal kitchen, and Sister Guadalupe looked at her, alarmed.
—I need help— Sofia whispered. —A doctor… but I can’t go to a hospital.
The nun didn’t hesitate. She nodded and picked up the phone.
“I know a doctor,” he said. “Sara Mendoza.”
But before he could score, the front door burst open. Three large men with predatory eyes entered. The leader held up a photo: Diego.
—Dark-haired boy. May be with a blonde girl.
Sofia felt her blood turn to ice. She hid behind the counter, holding her breath.
Sister Guadalupe remained firm, calm, as if faith weighed more than fear.
“I serve hundreds of children,” he said. “If I see anyone hurt, I’ll call the authorities.”
The man took a threatening step.
—He doesn’t want to get involved in family matters.
“And you don’t want to threaten a nun in her own home,” Guadalupe replied coldly. “Leave. Now.”
They left, but they left behind a poisoned promise:
—We always get our property back.
When the door closed, Sofia came out trembling. Guadalupe hugged her.
“That child isn’t coming back with them. We’re going to call the doctor… and Detective Morales.”
Hours later, Alejandro was outside the kitchen when he received the call. He practically ran inside. Guadalupe showed him the medal. Alejandro doubled over. She had given that medal to Diego on his fourth birthday.
“Take me with him,” she begged.
They went up to the abandoned building. Sofia blocked the entrance when she saw Alejandro, like a fierce little guardian.
-Who is it?
—Her father —said Guadalupe—. Alejandro Romero.
Sofia watched him with a disturbing intensity, then stepped back.
—Diego… someone came for you.
Alejandro crossed the room as if the air were burning. He saw his son on a dirty blanket. It wasn’t the boy in the photo. His body was too thin, too battered… but the green eyes were the same. Alejandro fell to his knees.
—Diego…
The boy looked at him, disbelief fighting with hope.
-Dad…?
Alejandro hugged him carefully, crying as if his chest were opening.
—I never stopped looking for you… never…
Diego clung to him, trembling.
—You came… you really came…
Dr. Mendoza arrived, examined his legs, and spoke urgently: immediate hospitalization. Diego panicked. Alejandro held his face.
—I have security. I have lawyers. No one will ever touch you again. I swear on your mother’s life.
Diego nodded, overcome by love and the need to live.
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