chapter
33
Fresh air had never smelled so good. I’d been locked up in that cage for two and a half weeks. And it had been the longest two and a half weeks of my life.
After Mr. Oliver left, I’d spent the next two days tossing and turning in my cell. Paco’s sin had indeed made things worse for me. The guards were cruel and the inmates looked at me in disgust. The three-timer had stopped talking to me. But I held back until Rosa revealed that Alejandro had had another asthma attack—one that landed him in the ER. I didn’t have a choice. I had to give the DA what he wanted.
Mr. Oliver drew up the paperwork. I was released on my own recognizance on a thirty-day Government Assist program, meaning the government needed my assistance to help solve a major crime.
All I had to do was hand them my son on a silver platter, and I could go live happily ever after.
What mother could live with that?
Though I had agreed to the DA’s terms, I hadn’t come to terms on whether that was something I could really do. How did a mother turn in her son when she knew it would alter his life forever?
Even if Paco was innocent, which I was still praying that he was, he would still be deported if he was arrested.
Savannah waved to me from the end of the hall. I really didn’t want any cameras there, but I owed Savannah that much, so I had agreed to allow her to film me as I was being released today. Knowing the camera was rolling, I maintained a grateful smile.
She reached in and hugged me.
“I’m so glad that you’re out,” she said.
“Thanks to you. I can’t wait to get home and hug my kids.”
A thought seemed to occur to her, because the smile left her face and she shifted uncomfortably. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
“We probably shouldn’t go out the front.”
“Why?”
“There are picketers out there,” she said.
“Picketers for what?”
She sighed. “They’re protesting you. The Anti-Immigration Foundation is fighting your release from jail. Some conservative media pundits have picked up the story and”—she released a long pause—“let’s just say it’s not pretty. My sources are telling me that the White House may even make a comment on it.”
“Oh, my God,” I groaned. This nightmare would never end.
“But Oliver and Jerri are focused. While those protesters are focused on the bad son, they’re going to play up the good son. I had a chance to sit and talk with Miguel and he is an amazing child.”
“Yeah, but Miguel is an American citizen.” My hands shook as I spoke. What had I gotten my family embroiled in?
“I know. But we want to contradict the picture the anti-immigration group is trying to paint of you as a mother. We want the courts to see the mother that is raising three wonderful U.S. citizens.”
I fought back tears. Today was supposed to be a happy day. I couldn’t let sorrow drown me.
Still, I said, “With these protesters, the judge could just deport me to make it all go away.”
“If you didn’t have your other children, I’d be worried,” she admitted.
I bit back the thought that came to me: That’s easy for you to say. I couldn’t help but be worried when my future—when my children’s future—was at stake.
“Yes, you have a battle ahead,” Savannah continued, sensing my angst. “I don’t know how this will end. But I’m faithful that it will all work out.” She smiled knowingly at me. “A wise woman once told me things have a way of working themselves out.”
I sighed. She was right. I didn’t come this far to give up. I needed to hold on, because as bumpy as the ride was going to be, I had to remain faithful that it would all work out in the end.