In the heart of a dusty village in South America, hope was a luxury reserved for the fortunate. But for Mateo's parents, it was an absurd charm of circumstance. Mateo’s mother, a vibrant dreamer, nurtured that hope fervently. When she discovered the tender blossom of life stirring within her womb, it fueled them—nurtured by the idea that perhaps, just perhaps, their child would live free from the relentless grip of persecution. Undocumented but driven, they made an arduous journey across the Mexican border, hidden in the chilling depths of a truck delivering onions. The aroma of damp earth and citrus clung to their clothes as they crossed over the parapets of despair to the fields of possibility in America. It was a perilous endeavor, every mile a triumph, every border checkpoint a formidable ghost of uncertainty. In the wide expanse of California’s agriculture, they secured work. Long days unfolded like the relentless sun above them, but their hands, though weary and callused, were skilled. Mateo's parents were known assets to their employers, laborers of grit, compelled by a shared dream—a home, a life, a sanctuary for their child. With dedication sculpting their humble existence, they came upon an abandoned house at the fringes of a winding dirt road. They transformed the crumbling structure into a home. Vines crept along its walls like time itself, nurturing the delicate touches they added inside—a well-loved couch, a table where laughter echoed, and walls adorned with hope. Every evening, they gathered together, serving not only the day’s bread but a feast of gratitude, as they thanked God for every breath of peace. Mateo was born into this love. Even as a child, he exuded brilliance—a prodigy whose curiosity glimmered like the stars above them. By the age of five, he was reading not just the colorful stories of children's books but the intricate verses of the Holy Bible. He could decipher letters painted on signs with an ease that awed local patrons. The family prayed with the fervor of the devoted, each night anchoring their hopes in whispers of faith, asking God to shield their family from the world's cruel hands. In their small sanctuary, innocence thrived amid a landscape shadowed by fear. Then disaster struck. On a day that began beneath a golden sunrise, the peace of their lives shattered like glass. The National Guard, accompanied by ICE agents, stormed through their door in a blitz of blue uniforms and flashing lights, cold and unyielding. Mateo's heart raced as he clutched the well-worn pages of his favorite Bible story, the words tangled with the waves of fear pouring into their home. His parents, terrified yet resolute, shielded him as they were forced outside into a world that suddenly felt foreign. They screamed for their child, their voices swallowed by the cacophony of compliance—a stark contrast to the melody of family they had forged so carefully. Handcuffed and dragged away, Mateo looked on in horror, helpless. The detainment camps blared with chaos. Families disintegrated, voices trampled under desperation. The government announced a Presidential order—a heartless initiation of mass deportations to different countries, coldly labeling it a ‘drop and run.’ Mateo was caught in the maelstrom of confusion as he was separated from his parents. Their protection—his very existence—disintegrated into nothingness, and all that remained was darkness. From behind barbed wire and concrete walls, he watched the faintest glimmers of dreams turn to nightmares. Mateo could sense danger surrounding him like an unrelenting tide. His parents were brutalized, the cruelty of the world flashing before him in glimpses clearer than his own name. Their light extinguished, leaving him adrift. It was then that Mateo fell into the clutches of an unscrupulous gang—each vicious hand claiming him for a world he had never known, weaving a terrifying reality of slavery and sex trafficking. The dreams of his past became fragmented whispers in his mind as he was thrust deeper into a labyrinth of despair. Yet amidst the horror, Mateo clutched every Bible verse he had memorized. Each word, each story of salvation, became a flickering beacon of defiance in the pitch-black void. They wrapped around his heart, a memoir of a childhood spent in laughter and prayers. As he navigated the shadows of this new, wicked world, he dreamt of those sunflower-filled fields of California—overwhelming with sunlight, love, and laughter. Mateo, ever resilient, forged on, determined to write a new story where hope could still flourish amid the ruins. In moments when despair threatened to uproot him completely, he recalled his parents’ love, their dreams sewn into his very being. And Mateo knew, somewhere, in the recesses of the universe, they were still praying together.