Chapter 1 - THE BOY BEHIND THE MANSION
Julian Mendoza had sent home $1,800 every single month for five years.
So why was his six-year-old son eating spoiled rice behind the mansion Julian had paid for?
“Mommy… I’m still hungry.”
The tiny voice stopped Julian cold.
He had just returned from Saudi Arabia without telling anyone.
Not his mother.
Not his sister.
Not even Mariana, his wife.
He had wanted it to be a surprise.
Instead, he stood in the dark behind his own house, holding a suitcase in one hand and a box of toys in the other, listening to his son beg for food.
“Please, baby,” Mariana whispered.
“Eat slowly.”
“If your grandmother hears us, she’ll make us sleep outside again.”
Julian’s fingers went numb.
Grandmother?
Outside?
He stepped closer to the rusted service door.
Then he saw them.
Mariana sat on a cracked plastic stool.
She had lost so much weight that for half a second, Julian almost didn’t recognize her.
Her dress hung loose around her shoulders.
Her cheekbones were sharp.
There were bruises under her eyes.
And in her hands sat a chipped plate with cold rice and scraps that looked like they had been pulled from the trash.
Across from her sat Dieguito.
Six years old now.
The baby Julian remembered had become a thin little boy with hollow cheeks.
His son held a spoon carefully, as if eating too fast might get him in trouble.
Julian looked toward the glowing mansion.
Music blasted through the windows.
People laughed.
A mariachi trumpet screamed over the sound of clinking glasses.
Someone shouted for another bottle of tequila.
His mother, Doña Eulalia, and his younger sister Patricia were throwing a party.
Inside the mansion Julian had paid for with five years of his life.
Five years hauling steel outside Riyadh.
Five years sweating through 115-degree heat.
Five years sleeping in crowded rooms with men who dreamed about their children.
Every month, Julian had sent nearly everything home.
“Make sure Mariana has what she needs, Mom.”
“I will, hijo.”
“Make sure Dieguito eats well.”
“Of course.”
“And keep paying the house.”
“Stop worrying. Your family is safe with me.”
Safe.
Julian almost laughed.
Then the kitchen door opened.
Patricia walked outside carrying a silver tray piled with roasted chicken.
She wore a red designer dress.
Gold bracelets flashed around her wrists.
Dieguito stared at the food.
Patricia caught him.
“Don’t even think about it.”
The boy lowered his eyes.
Patricia placed the tray on a side table.
“That’s for the guests.”
Mariana said quietly, “He hasn’t eaten since this morning.”
Patricia rolled her eyes.
“That isn’t my problem.”
“Patricia, please.”
“You two eat after everyone leaves.”
She picked up the tray again.
“If there’s anything left.”
Julian’s suitcase fell from his hand.
The sound cracked through the patio.
The toy box hit next.
Plastic cars and action figures spilled across the wet concrete.
Patricia spun around.
Her face went white.
“Julian?”
Mariana looked up.
The plate slipped from her fingers.
It shattered.
Dieguito jumped.
Then Doña Eulalia appeared in the doorway.
She wore pearl earrings and held a wineglass in one hand.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Julian looked at his mother.
Then his sister.
Then his wife.
Then his starving son.
“What,” Julian said slowly, “is going on?”
His mother recovered first.
“Julian, hijo, you should’ve told us you were coming.”
“That’s your first sentence?”
Eulalia glanced at Mariana.
Her eyes sharpened.
“Don’t make a scene.”
Julian looked at the house.
The music.
The guests.
The expensive cars.
Then he pointed at Dieguito.
“My son is eating garbage behind my house.”
“No one is eating garbage.”
Mariana whispered, “Julian…”
He turned.
She looked terrified.
Not relieved.
Terrified.
That scared him more than anything.
He stepped toward her.
“Who did this to you?”
Mariana didn’t answer.
Patricia crossed her arms.
“She’s being dramatic.”
Julian snapped his head toward her.
“What did you say?”
“You’ve been gone for five years. You don’t know what happened here.”
Julian took one step forward.
“Then explain it.”
Patricia smiled nervously.
“Mariana wasted money.”
Mariana’s head shot up.
“That’s a lie.”
Eulalia slammed her glass onto the counter.
“Enough!”
Dieguito flinched.
Julian saw it.
His six-year-old son flinched at his grandmother’s voice.
Something ugly moved inside Julian’s chest.
He crouched in front of the boy.
“Dieguito?”
The child stared at him.
Julian swallowed.
“I’m your dad.”
Dieguito said nothing.
Julian’s heart cracked.
Then the boy looked toward Eulalia.
“Abuela said my daddy didn’t want us anymore.”
Silence.
Julian slowly stood.
His mother’s face changed.
Just a little.
But Julian saw it.
Fear.
“Is that true?” he asked.
Eulalia opened her mouth.
Before she could answer, Mariana grabbed Julian’s wrist.
Her fingers were freezing.
“Not here.”
Julian looked at her.
“Why?”
Mariana glanced toward the mansion.
Then toward the security camera above the service door.
“Because they’re recording us.”
Julian looked up.
A tiny red light blinked.
Then Mariana whispered the words that changed everything.
May you like
“They’ve been waiting for you to come back.”
And inside the mansion, someone suddenly shut off the music.
