My own children, the same ones we worked for our entire lives, abandoned us on

Our own children — the ones we sacrificed everything for — left us on a deserted highway.
Manuel and I sat in stunned silence as the reality of their betrayal sank in. The sun beat down mercilessly, but it was the coldness in their hearts that truly froze us. Their car sped away, leaving only a trail of dust and a silence that cut deeper than words.

I turned to Manuel, searching his face for strength. His eyes, once full of warmth, now held only disbelief and pain. Then, as I reached for his hand, my fingers brushed against something — the corner of a crumpled envelope hidden in his pocket. He hesitated, then drew it out slowly.

“I didn’t want to show you this,” he murmured, his voice trembling, “but maybe it’s time.”

The envelope was old and yellowed, its edges worn with age. Inside were papers and faded photographs — fragments of a story I didn’t yet understand.

Read Part 2