Salomé Fuentes was 8 years old, but her gaze carried the weight of someone who has seen too much.
The girl walked down the prison corridor without crying, without trembling.
The prisoners in their cells remained silent as she passed by.
There was something about her that commanded respect, something that no one could explain.
When she arrived at the visiting room, Salome saw her father for the first time in 3 years.
Ramiro was handcuffed to the table, wearing a worn orange uniform and with an overgrown beard.
Upon seeing her daughter, her eyes filled with tears.
My little girl, he whispered, my little Salome, what happened next would change everything.
Salome let go of the social worker’s hand and walked slowly towards her father.
He didn’t run, he didn’t scream.
