When I burst out of the tunnel into the cold night air, the black pickup truck was waiting under a canopy of trees. I threw myself into the driver’s seat, slotted the key into the ignition, and tore down the dirt road away from the burning hacienda.
As I looked in the rearview mirror, watching the smoke rise against the moonlit sky, I ripped open the thick envelope Celia had given me.
Inside wasn’t just money or coordinates. Nestled at the bottom was a small silver locket containing a photograph of my real mother holding me, and a handwritten note from Celia:
“You were never crazy, Efraín. You were just loved by women who would burn the world to keep you safe. Now go take back what belongs to you.”
