I shake my head to myself, thinking of the stories we’ve heard—the raids that have happened around the city in the last couple of years, the ways ICE tricks people into letting them into their homes. I want to tell Ma that she should’ve been more careful, that she shouldn’t have opened the door, that maybe if she’d thought twice, she would still be here with us, but I manage to hold it all in. There’s no point beating ourselves up now. “Ma, what do we do? How do we get you out of there?”

“Just take care of Sophie,” she says, panting a little. “That’s your main job, okay?”

“Yes! Yes, I know.”

“Mateo,” she adds pointedly. “Sé fuerte y sé valiente.”

A chill comes running down my back. Be strong and be brave. That’s another saying we’ve been hearing for years.

“Voy a tratar, Ma.” There’s not much more I can promise her right now, but I mean it when I say I’ll try. I have to—if not for me, for my sister.

When Ma asks about Uncle Jorge, I tell her the same thing I told Pa—that I’m hoping we won’t have to go stay with him at all. That we want to stay home. That we’re holding on until they find a way to come back.

“Are you eating well? What have you had for dinner?” she asks, because that’s always been one of Ma’s main concerns—making sure that we’re well fed.

“I’ve been trying to make some of the things you make, but they’re not as good.”

She lets out a breath that sounds almost like a chuckle. “Well, I hope I’ll be back soon. And I can make you anything you want. Anything.”

“Sounds good, Ma. Just focus on coming back.”

We stay on the line in silence for a bit, holding on to this moment for as long as we can—this small moment of togetherness—until Ma tells us that she needs to go.

And, just like Pa, she makes one last promise before she hangs up. “We’ll all be together soon,” she says. “I know we will be.”

For a moment, I don’t say anything. But then I reply, “Okay, Ma. We’ll see you soon,” because right now hope is all we have, and we need to hold on to it no matter what.