It was here we prayed. Rosibel held the infant, while the boy clung to my chest. The older children sat solemn upon the bench.
We’d come so far, but there were miles more to go. Miles of jungle, of desert, of plain. Catching trains when we were able, walking when we couldn’t, and every day facing bottomless hunger, endless thirst, and the banditos that preyed upon the desperate such as we were.
It was still better than what we risked by staying in San Salvador. Ivanito shifted in my lap. He was but three, but he would never know a gang initiation, or to have to murder another man just to stay alive. Our kids would live a good life.
We were hard workers, Rosibel and I. We’d keep them safe. I breathed the scent of Ivanito’s hair and pressed my lips to his head.
Let nothing come between us.