“No,” said the boy. “You’re here.”
“Then at least he won’t be alone.”
“My son,” she whispered. “He drowned in the river last spring. The water took him, but it didn’t give him back. He wanders now, between the current and the shore. I want to bring him home.” almas perdidas
Mateo felt his own heart crack. He saw his daughter, not as a woman he’d never met, but as a five-year-old in white shoes, reaching for his hand as he walked toward the door. “Papá, don’t go.” And he’d gone.
“To the place where lost souls go. To beg one to return.” “No,” said the boy
Mateo stood alone in the rain. He was no longer a ghost. He was just a man, wet and tired, with nothing left to lose.
“I know a road,” he said quietly. “But you don’t come back the same.” The water took him, but it didn’t give him back
The boy tilted his head. A flicker. Like a match struggling to light.