Page 142 of Forbidden Fate

I do not say Cruz.

I do not say Zabala.

I do not say Señora Valentina.

I do not say the man who rescued me also almost killed my brother.

Relief hits so hard it feels physical.

For the first time since I woke up in that awful cell on that disgusting cot, I breathe without feeling fear.

A woman with kind eyes brings me water. Another person asks if I need medical attention. I say I don’t know.

Because I don’t.

What counts as medical attention?

My body is bruised. My wrists are scraped. I haven’t slept properly. My nerves are shredded. My heart keeps doing strange things.

“Come with me,” the woman who’s helping me finally says.

She brings me to a small room. Inside is a table. A phone. A box of tissues. A chair with worn fabric.

It’s the most beautiful room I’ve ever seen.

“Take your time,” the woman says.

I almost laugh. “I need to call my family. They’ll wire me money. Help me get home.”

She reaches for my hand. “You’ve been through trauma. You need to relax. Just give me the names and phone number of the person you want to reach. If you don’t remember the number, I can help you find it.”

I scrunch my forehead. “I know the number. Why wouldn’t I know the number?”

“Because you’ve been⁠—”

I hold up a hand to stop her. “I’ve been to hell and back,” I say. “I get it. But I know my sister’s number. I know the numbers for all my family members.” I let out a breath. Two tears drop from my eyes.

Fuck.

Now I’m going to cry?

“It’s all right,” the woman says.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“Juanita. I already told you.”

Did she? Yes, she did. The first few minutes I was here everything was a blur. Name. Identification. Citizenship. Blah, blah, blah.

“Of course. I’m sorry, Juanita. I’m so sorry.”

She pulls a tissue out of the box and hands it to me. “Everything will be all right now. Take your time.”

Take my time.

I’ve been racing against time for the last forty-eight hours. Time seems unreal to me now.

I breathe in. Out. In again.