Two weeks ago, Mexico â¦
The pounding. I feel it everywhere. In my head. In my throat. In my chest. In my heart. Itâs going to give out.
My steps falter as my bare feet dig into the blazing hot sand. Just a little further. Iâll get out of here if I just keep going.
Iâm about to collapse when visions of pigtails and a cocky little grin invade my mind. My children. I fucking left them.
Guilt spears me, cutting me right through the boneâand my only solace is that there was no other way. I had to get help. I have to get help.
The sunâs rays are punishing, making my neck blister as I trek another mile in the Mexican desert, but I canât stop moving. Everything I put my family through, it wonât be in vain.
Iâm huffing out heavy breaths as my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth, reminding me I havenât had a drop to drink in God knows how long, but itâs what I deserve. Hell on earth.
This is all my fault and I need to make it right.
Should I have stayed? Visions of my wife and children, tied up and on the floor, flash before me. And like a bat to the chest, pain slams into me, seeping into every cell of my body and making me stumble.
No. This had to be done. Staying would have meant certain death for us all. Leaving was the only way of finding help. Our only chance at survival.
Iâd do it all again if it gives us the chance of escaping this Hell. One foot in front of the other, I move forward as my head replays the horror of the past few daysâ¦
My face contorts as visions of my lifeless children float inside my head. My kids. Theyâre so young, so full of life. This canât be their end.
Iâm too lost in gruesome thoughts, I donât see it until itâs too late.
My foot sinks into something sharp, the jagged material sending shooting pain up my leg and making me tumble to the ground.
Fuck.
My vision blurs as it focuses in and out on the cut. Glass. I stepped on a broken beer bottle.
Glass⦠Glass⦠Glass! People! Glass means people!
I squeeze my eyes shut, a choked sob ripping from my throat as my eyes tingle with impending tears that never come, my body too dehydrated to offer a drop. No matter. This isnât the time for tears. Iâll save those for when Iâm holding my babies once more.
God. Will they ever forgive me? If they only knew. Iâm the reason theyâre in this mess.
Itâs okay. Itâll be okay. Iâll make things right if itâs the last thing I do.
With my renewed determination, I walk on, praying against all odds that I find people and make it out of Satanâs sweltering asshole alive.