Their first daughter, Karina, was born a few months into the new millennium. With Perla’s approval, Mauro finally moved into Elena’s bedroom, agonizing over the ways he might fail this child. He worried deceit ran through his blood, as dominant as his father’s features, dark curls and arequipe skin, which he’d already passed on to the baby. He vowed to give her more than he’d been given. The only way to do that, he determined, was by leaving their land.

The end of the last century brought no closure to violence across the country, just new heads for the monster. From a populace rearranged by the dislocation of hundreds of thousands; to relentless attacks on citizens like the hijacking of a flight from Bucaramanga, its passengers abducted into the jungle; the mass kidnapping of parishioners from a church in Cali; the guerrilla takeover of the Amazon city of Mitú, where countless people were wounded and disappeared before the army response over three days of combat left hundreds of civilians, soldiers, and insurgents dead; paramilitary massacres in Macayepo and El Salado, where dozens, including children, were tortured, macheted, and murdered. In the capital, the No Más protests all but unheard by those who most needed to hear them.

“This country doesn’t know it’s dying,” Mauro said as they watched the news after dinner.

“It’s not the country we want, but it’s the country we deserve,” Perla answered while Elena remained quiet.

That much might be true, Mauro thought, but there was no law condemning a person to life in the nation of their birth. Not yet.

Perla’s laundry was near bankruptcy since washing machines had become more affordable and most people no longer needed to send their clothes out to a lavado de ropa por libras. For a time, she looked for a tenant to take over the shop space, but the barrio building facades were covered in profane graffiti. During Perla’s childhood, the street was as beautiful as an English country road, like the imitation Tudor and Victorian styles much of Chapinero was modeled on. Now it was a block most people avoided.

In those days, Mauro thought he would have to go abroad alone. He did not imagine Elena would be willing to leave her mother. When he told her his idea to find work in another country so he could send money back for her, Perla, and the baby—sustenance for the lavandería and to keep the house from dereliction—he promised it would be only for a few months. Then he would return, and just think what they could do with the money he made! How far it would reach when converted to pesos.

He was surprised Elena didn’t argue, only listened. When he was through making his case, she pulled a tin box from under her bed, filled with crumpled bills. Her secret savings, she said, though she never knew for what until that moment.

“Take us with you.”

FIVE

Spain was the logical first choice because of the common language. This was years before Colombia’s entry to the Schengen Agreement that would allow them to travel there without visas, and so their applications were denied. Mauro and Elena decided to try for the United States, where they’d heard it was easier to get tourist visas as individuals rather than as a married couple. That’s how they rationalized not having a wedding just yet. They told Perla that Mauro had a cousin in Texas who invited them to stay for a while. It would be a long vacation of sorts. They’d get to know the city, find temporary jobs, make some fat American dollars to pay off Perla’s debts, and return home with their savings plumped. People did this kind of thing all the time.