When I was seven, my mother often left me in the care of my grandmother, Flor, especially when she was busy with work. in fact, she loved spending time with me. She always had plans for us, and every moment we shared was special.

 One of the things I remember most fondly is how she would cook for me. Every meal was made with love, using ingredients she had grown herself in her garden.

While my grandpa also lived with her, he was often away, busy selling the fruits and vegetables he had worked so hard to grow. As a result, he doesn’t play a part in this particular story.

This memory is one of the many occasions when my grandmother became not just a caretaker, but a source of warmth. This story takes place during one of those times when I was under her care. 

During that time, I was on vacation, which meant my mother couldn’t be with me that day. The night before, I packed everything I needed and went to stay at my grandmother’s house. I still vividly remember that morning and what I had for breakfast: eggs with arepa and a cup of coffee. Earlier, my grandmother and I had gone to get the eggs together, a small routine that made the morning feel special. After breakfast, I got dressed, brushed my teeth, and we spent some time watching television. 

My grandmother stayed by my side until I eventually drifted off to sleep. Once she noticed I was asleep, she quietly left me in bed to take care of her other responsibilities. I’m not sure how long I slept, but when I woke up, the first thing I did was call out for her.

She didn’t respond to my call, which only heightened my anxiety and made me get out of bed. I remember frantically checking the bedrooms first, then the bathroom, the kitchen, and the living room. When I didn’t find her anywhere, the only place left was the garden. But at that time, the garden scared me, especially because I was terrified of the chickens. I decided to search for my grandmother only as far as my courage would allow, which wasn’t very far, since the 

Another important detail to mention is that my grandparents' house was connected to my uncle Carlos' house, where he lived with his family. The good thing was that I didn't have to go outside to access his house, so I decided to see if anyone there could keep me company. Unfortunately, when I arrived, the house was completely empty, which left me even more desperate. At that point, my only options seemed to be to look for my parents at their places of work or to return to my own home, for which I had to leave the safety of my grandparents' house and venture out alone. Strangely, this idea seemed less intimidating than searching the garden thoroughly.

With few options left, I decided to hold onto the hope of finding my grandmother at one of the nearby stores. However, I didn't find her. So, I made my way back to my grandparents' house, where I packed everything into my bag. I called out several more times, but again, I didn't hear back. That made me feel more determined than ever to leave and go to my parents.

For a seven-year-old girl, the road was dangerous. To this day, I don’t understand how I had the courage to just leave, driven by the fear I had of a backyard. The journey was long and not entirely safe for someone my age. I remember that as I walked home, I was just crying wiping away my tears with my little hand. 

I walked as fast as I could, and for someone so small, I got quite far, as I managed to reach the entrance of the neighborhood.

 I remember that day well: the sun was shining brightly, and the sky was a deep blue. I was very thirsty and hot, but my only thought was to reunite with my mom and dad soon.

As I hurried along, I couldn’t stop wondering why my grandmother had abandoned me. I questioned whether I had misbehaved or done something wrong, and that thought only made me feel worse. I became so absorbed in these worries that I believe it was my own thoughts that drowned out the distant shouts of a girl calling out