Diego didn't run into my arms. That day he didn't even want to see me. For him, the judge had just taken his mother away. He left the courthouse holding my father's hand, without turning around.
I got my son back. And my son, that day, hated me.
I could have put Jimena in jail. My lawyer told me that what she did would get her years in prison. I had the complaint ready. I just needed my signature.
One afternoon, Diego said to me the only sentence he had said to me in weeks:
—If you put my mom in jail, I'll never forgive you.
I didn't sign.
Maybe I did wrong. Many people tell me, "That woman deserved to rot in hell." And maybe they're right. But I wasn't going to get my son back by ripping away the woman he called Mom for twelve years. I'm the one who has to pay that price. He won't.
Jimena went to Guadalajara. She had Mateo alone; Ricardo didn't stay either. To this day, she blames me for everything. "If you hadn't been so perfect," she told me the last time. I didn't take her in. That's her fault.
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