“Mamá?” he whispered.
“To the place where lost souls go. To beg one to return.” almas perdidas
“You’ll become lost, too.”
The woman gasped. “ Hijo .”
“Are you afraid?” Mateo asked.
She pulled out the curl of hair. “I cut this the night before you left. You were afraid of the dark. I told you, ‘The dark is just the world sleeping. I’ll be here when you wake up.’” “Mamá
She opened the box. Inside lay a child’s white shoe, scuffed at the toe, and a curl of black hair tied with a red ribbon. scuffed at the toe