The officer kept talking, and I felt the air leave my lungs…
PART 2: The Sacrifice
The morning the police came to my door, I thought my son had done something terrible. That was my first mistake. My second was assuming I’d known the full story a few nights before, when I walked into Alejandro‘s room with a laundry basket on my hip and noticed the empty space by his desk.
His guitar was gone.
“Alejandro?” I called.
“Yeah, Mom?” he yelled from the kitchen.
“Where’s your guitar, son?”
“Mom,” he said, appearing in the doorway to his room. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you…”
“Alejandro, what’s going on?”
He lowered his eyes. “I sold my guitar, Mom.”
“You did what?!” I set the basket down on the floor because my hands had gone weak. “Why would you do that? That guitar meant everything to you.”
