I begged my uncle to help my starving sister. When I turned, a cold-smiling stranger stood in the doorway holding something terrifying and I knew hunger wasn’t the worst danger anymore.

“Uncle… please take my little sister with you. She hasn’t eaten anything all day,” I pleaded, my voice shaking as I clung to the edge of the table, afraid my knees might give way.

My name is Javier Morales. I was seventeen then, and that afternoon I genuinely believed I was making the right choice. My mother had been bedridden …

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