“I see. You’re out of prison,” Diego said, leaning on the door frame. “That’s good. What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in Mexico?”
She had imagined this moment a thousand times, but not like this.
When she finally found her voice, it came out soft.
“Can I come inside… son?”
He stepped aside, still watching her like she was a stranger on his doorstep.
“State your mission and leave,” he said flatly. “That’s what you’re good at doing.”
She stood in the middle of the room, her fingers playing with the strap of her bag.
“I’ve missed you,” she whispered. “All those years in prison, the thought of you kept me alive. I’m back now.”
She reached out to touch his face, but he stepped back.
“I’m not here for this, Camila,” he said, using her name like it was nothing. “Why are you here
