Just as we’re about to finish dinner, Ma calls my cell phone. At first, she sounds no different than the last time we spoke to her. I can tell she’s worried, exhausted. But then, all of a sudden, she breaks down crying.

“I can’t believe your dad’s hearing is tomorrow. I wish I could be there,” she mumbles. “You all shouldn’t have to go through this alone. I want to be there for you.”

“Ma… we understand. It’s okay that you can’t be here.”

“But I should be.”

“You can’t be hard on yourself right now, Ma. You need to stay as strong as you can. Sé fuerte y sé valiente,” I say. A part of me can’t believe I’m the one comforting her, when it’s always been the other way around. She’s always been the shoulder we cry on, the first person Sophie and I run to when we’re in trouble. “And we have Uncle Jorge. He’s—”

A phone starts ringing somewhere in the apartment, and we all turn to look at each other. Amy takes a look down at her cell phone, but it’s not the one that’s ringing. Uncle Jorge feels the pockets of his pants, and when he comes up empty-handed, he runs to the living room to look for his phone.

He answers it as he’s halfway back to the dinner table. “Hello?” At first, he looks a little confused, but then he lets out a small smile and says, “Ernesto!”

“What was that?” Ma asks. I can tell right away that she’s stopped crying. “Did I hear your dad’s name?”

“Sí, Ma,” I say, my heart beating fast. “He’s on the line with Uncle Jorge. Hold on, let me put you on speakerphone.”

I lay my phone down on the table, and a second later, Jorge places his phone next to mine.

“Adela?” my dad asks.

“Ernesto?”

Suddenly, their voices are all we can hear. They’re speaking quickly, not even bothering to let the other finish their sentences.

“¿Cómo es el lugar a donde te mandaron?”

“Te he extrañado tanto, y—”

“—los niños. Me han dicho que—”

“—mañana. Tienes que tener fe, porque—”

I look down at my phone and Uncle Jorge’s. My heart hurts when I think about the fact that this is the first time they’ve spoken to each other in nearly two months. It hurts a bit more when I remember that Ma is sitting somewhere inside that detention center in Buffalo, and Pa is in a dark jail. Even when it feels as if they’ve finally reunited, they still can’t be together.

“Tengo miedo, Adela,” Pa says at some point, and my mom chokes on her own words.