They had thrown her out onto the street.
They had let her die.
With their children.
As if it were garbage.
Alejandro fell to his knees beside the bed.
Her trembling hand touched her sister’s cold face.
“I’m sorry…” she whispered.
“I believed him…”
A tear fell.
For the first time in years.
Alejandro Castillo… cried.
Then he got up.
Her expression changed completely.
She was no longer cold.
It was a storm.
“Lucía.”
“Yeah…”
“From today on… you are no longer alone.”
He took off his coat.
She covered the babies.
He picked one up in his arms.
“We’re going home.”
That night.
Three lives were saved.
But it was also the night…
in which one of the most powerful men in Mexico started a war.
A war… to do justice for his sister.
And for the little girl who knelt before a cruel world…
just to order two cans of milk.
That night did not end when they left the hut.
It was just the beginning.
The rain was still pouring down as Alejandro’s black car drove through the empty streets of Guadalajara. In the back seat, Lucía clutched one of the babies’ tiny hands tightly, as if afraid someone might snatch them away again at any moment. Her eyes darted around, confused, scared, but also… for the first time, with a small glimmer of hope.
Alejandro didn’t say a single word during the journey.
His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly.
Each traffic light.
Every drop of rain hitting the windshield.
Every second.
