They sold me to an old man for a few coins, believing that this would get them out of a nuisance. But the envelope he put on the table shattered the lie I carried for 17 years.

I felt my heart stop.

“By Mary?” Clara asked, feigning a smile. He is weak and eats a lot.

“I need working hands,” he answered. Pay today. In cash.

There were no questions. There was no concern. Just money on the table. Bills counted quickly, as if I were not a person, but a burden that was finally taken off their shoulders.

“Gather your things,” Ernesto ordered. And don’t embarrass us.

All my life I fit in a duffel bag. Old clothes. A pair of pants. And a worn-out book.

Clara did not get up to say goodbye.

“Good-bye, hindrance,” he murmured.

The trip was torture. I cried silently, clenching my hands, thinking of the worst. What did a man want alone with a young girl? Work until you drop dead? Something worse?

The truck was going up mountain roads until we arrived.

The hacienda was not what he expected. It was big, clean, surrounded by pine trees. The wooden house looked neat, alive.

We enter. Everything was in order. Old photographs, solid furniture, smell of coffee.

Don Ramón sat down in front of me.

“Maria,” he said in an unexpectedly soft voice. I didn’t bring you here to blow you up.