It had been thirteen days since Sofía had been detained in the compound. And thirteen days since she last saw her daughter, Isabella.
Sofía thought about the difficult and often harrowing journey of the past two month that she and Isabella took, striving to reach the U.S. border to seek asylum from the country that took the lives of her husband and teenage son. Little did she know that she would be treated like a criminal when she got to the border and would have her last remaining child snatched from her arms and taken only God knows where.
Sofía was only thirty, but she felt as though she was suffering from a midlife crisis. She’d experienced horrors in her young life that most women twice her age could not even imagine. And now she was living a waking nightmare, detained in a compound, and separated from her only living child.
Whatever happen to those words of hope carved on a plaque at the base of the Statue of Liberty, words that Sofía had committed to memory:
“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
“Empty words, empty promises,” Sofía thought, the tears of hopelessness and despair streaming down her cheeks.
Written for Teresa’s Three Things Challenge, where the three things are thirteen, midlife crisis, and past. And for Fandango’s One-Word Challenge, “compound.” And for the Word of the Day Challenge, “striving.”