“I will always be grateful to you,” my father added.

Ramiro smiled faintly, picked up the box of equipment, and walked out of the room, leaving my father and me alone.

The study was quiet, the afternoon sun casting long patterns of light across the wooden floor.

My father walked over to the desk, where a small framed photograph of my mother sat.

He picked it up, his thumb gently tracing the edge of the silver frame.

“She would be so proud of you, Daniela,” my father said softly, keeping his back to me.

“You were strong when I was weak. You protected your sister.”

I walked over to him, standing by his side as we both looked at the picture.

“I just wanted our family back,” I said.

My father put the picture down and turned to face me.

He reached out and pulled me into a brief, gentle hug.

“We have it back now,” he said. “It will be different, but we have it back.”

As the days turned into weeks, the transition began.