There was an strange gravity about her, something no one could name.
In the visiting room, she saw her father for the first time in three years.
Mateo sat chained to the steel table, orange jumpsuit faded, beard wild and unkempt.
The moment he saw her, tears spilled down his cheeks.
“My baby girl,” he breathed. “My Elena…”
What happened next would rewrite everything.
Elena released the caseworker’s hand and walked straight to him.
No running. No crying out.
Each step deliberate, practiced, as though she had lived this moment in her mind a thousand times.
Mateo stretched his shackled hands toward her.
She stepped into his arms and held him tightly.
