Reyna
SUDDENLY, I’M SEVEN YEARS OLD AGAIN, kneeling in the dirt of the family garden, trying to pull out weeds with my small, clumsy hands.
Without warning, the skies start pouring, and I bolt for the front door, my rubber sandals making squeaky sounds, mud staining my face.
I stretch up on my tippy-toes, my muddy fingers trying to work the knob, but it won’t turn.
Rain lashes against my face, getting heavier by the second.
I knock hard, my teeth chattering as the cold water seeps into my floral sundress and soaks my skin.
“Mama, please,” I whisper.
Behind the glass, my parents appear.
My mother’s lips curl into a sneer.
My father shakes his head. “You disobeyed us, Reyna. Stay out there and learn.”
Then they turn away.
I clamp my teeth over my trembling bottom lip.
My tear
