Twice I tried to escape. The first time, they found me before I reached the main road.
The second time, they threatened to take Tala if I tried again. From then on, I understood that I could only save her if I obeyed and waited for the right moment.
Time passed faster than I imagined. Tala grew up. She learned to speak the local dialect, to climb hills, to read with the few books I managed to find. She never stopped remembering you.
She kept the blue ribbon you put in her hair that trip; she treasured it all these years.
Six months ago, the last man who watched over us died.
The others had already disappeared or were imprisoned for other crimes. I thought we could finally return, but I discovered a truth that made me delay this letter: I’m sick, Lourdes. Very sick.
The village doctor says it’s my liver, maybe cancer. I no longer have the strength to travel like I used to.
I’ve kept this from Tala, but she’s not stupid. She knows I’m fading away.
Lourdes covered her mouth with her hand. The entire room seemed to bow. Fifteen years waiting for a sign, dreaming of an impossible return, and now the first news came wrapped in the fear of losing them again.
Αt the end of the paper there was an address, written with more pressure, as if Ramón had wanted to make sure that it would never be erased.
