Rita Consuelo lay in her hospital bed, numb with terror that they were going to take her child away. She struggled to remain calm—she knew she had to remain calm—but the thought of losing Ramon was driving her out of her mind. The image of the four-year-old boy was wedged in her consciousness like a splinter. Tiny beads of sweat had appeared on her pale forehead. Her hands trembled nervously.

“Mrs. Consuelo, we have received a report that you are not providing adequate care for your child,” said the Child Welfare officer, a bald man in his fifties.

“I’ve made arrangements with my coworkers. They’re providing what he needs. He has a roof over his head and food to eat. Once I recover, I’ll make sure he never lacks anything, I swear,” Rita pleaded through tears.

Little Ramon had been staying in the storage room of the gas station where Rita had worked before the accident. Her coworkers had neither the time nor the desire to look after him, but at least they fed him. At night, however, the child was left completely alone, and his crying irritated the security guards.

“It isn’t right for him to live alone,” the officer grunted.

“They’ll discharge me from the hospital soon. Everything will be fine. I love him very much, and I’d even give my life for him. Believe me! I’m a good mother!”

The officer cast a skeptical glance at her left leg, encased in plaster and suspended upward in two loops of cotton fabric. Only her foot was free, drooping to one side like a wilted flower. Rita had pulled the blanket up carefully so that the cast wrapping her waist and reaching nearly to her chest remained hidden.

“I’ve spoken to your attending physician. He says you’ll be here for quite a long time yet, which means you just lied to me. I advise you not to lie to me again.”

“I’m sorry. But I’m strong. I’ll be able to get up soon. I don’t intend to stay here for long.”

“The child needs a normal environment. There are many people willing to care for him. He’ll be happy with a foster family.”

“Ramon wants to be with me. Ask him!”

“Madam, you’re not presenting yourself well as a parent.”

“Please!”

“Where is the father?”

“He stayed behind in my homeland. Actually ... he abandoned us. But I manage without him.”

“Are you married?”

“No.”

“You’re working in this country illegally. I checked.”

“I immigrated because I wanted to provide a better future for my son.”

“But you got involved with the wrong people and ended up getting hurt...”

“It wasn’t my fault, sir. Believe me! I was riding my bicycle home from the market. About ten gang members surrounded me and started harassing me. They groped me and tore at my clothes. I tried to run because I was afraid they would rape me. They chased me into an abandoned warehouse. I slipped and fell from a platform. The pain was unbearable—I thought I was dying. Those scumbags ran away. Then, fortunately, an ambulance arrived and the medics took care of me. All my savings went for the treatment. Please show some mercy!”