“Have you worked here long? Do you have any family?”
Miguel gave a faint smile, though his eyes held a quiet distance.
“I don’t have family here. I grew up in an orphanage… then I started working at a very young age.”
Silence settled over the table.
Elea’s expression shifted, as if something long buried had resurfaced.
She studied Miguel closely—his features, his eyes, the way he spoke—before asking gently:
“How old are you? What year were you born?”
Miguel was slightly taken aback, but answered:
“1993.”
Elea swallowed hard.
“When you were a child… did they leave you anything? An object… something you kept?”
Miguel froze.
An old memory, buried for years, rose to the surface.
He nodded slowly.
“Yes… they told me I had a worn red cloth bracelet. I still have it… though I never knew why it mattered.”
The spoon slipped from Elea’s hand, the metallic sound echoing in the quiet.
Roberto, her husband, exchanged a look with her before turning back to Miguel—this time with something different in his eyes.
The child sat silently, watching the adults with curiosity.
Elea raised a trembling hand to her mouth.
Her eyes filled with tears.
“That bracelet… does it have a small letter ‘M’ stitched on the side…?”
Miguel felt his heart begin to race.
“…Yes.”
The world seemed to stop.
A truth… was about to surface.
