“I didn’t mean for it to go this far,” he muttered.
“Didn’t mean it?” I snapped. “Then why did you make the call? Why give them my information?”
His shoulders shook. “Because I’m tired, Miguel. Tired of being invisible. Tired of being poor. I thought if you were gone… I could take your place. Your job. Your room. Your life.”
His words tore through me.
This was the boy I used to protect. The one I stood up for when classmates mocked him. The one I taught to ride a bike, the one I carried home bleeding and crying after he fell.
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