Five long years. Five years of shouting his innocence into indifferent concrete walls.
Now, with only hours left before the final walk, Mateo Vargas had just one final request.
“I need to see my daughter,” he said, voice cracked and raw.
That’s my only wish.
Let me see little Elena before everything ends.
The youngest officer looked away, uncomfortable. The senior one snorted and spat on the floor.
Convicts don’t get to make demands.
She’s only eight.
I haven’t held her in three years.
