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Chapter 27
Xiomara
Maksim bounces on the airport bench beside me, swinging his little feet as he clutches his stuffed bear in one hand and a juice box in the other.
“Where are we going again, Mamá?” he asks for the one millionth time this morning.
“On an adventure,” I say, smoothing down his dark curls.
He grins, wide and carefree, accepting the answer like it’s magic. I wish I could hold on to his innocence for just a little longer, because this isn’t an adventure. It’s a return to everything I ran from. And he—my bright, giggling son—is about to be thrust into the very world he was born into but never knew.
He doesn’t know about the security details that will soon follow us everywhere. The eyes that will be watching us. The danger that always hides just behind the legacy of our name.
He doesn’t know who his father or grandfather is. Or what I left behind to give him a normal life, and now I’m dragging him back into it.
The check-in line moves slowly.
I keep my scarf tucked low over my face, sunglasses shielding my eyes even in the fluorescent light. I don’t make conversation. I know I look like just another tired mother traveling alone with her child.
Maksim chats with the elderly woman behind us in line, charming her with his stories about “the talking bird he saw in the window yesterday” and how he’s going to “see the clouds from inside the plane.”
They scan our bags. Glance at our documents, and wave us through. Maksim holds my hand as we walk toward the boarding gate, his eyes darting everywhere, wide and curious.
“Mamá, can we live on the airplane?” he asks.
“No,mi amor,”I whisper, brushing my thumb across his knuckles. “But I wish we could.”
We settle into our seats on the flight to Barcelona, just under an hour in the air. Maksim insists on the window seat, and I let him have it. He presses his nose to the glass and gasps as the engines roar to life.
“This is my favorite adventure ever,” he declares.
I smile weakly, the sound of his voice both comforting and cruel because I know the life that awaits him on the other side. He falls asleep halfway through the flight, head nestled into my arm, his soft breath fogging the collar of my coat. I stroke his hair gently, watching the clouds drift by outside, golden and cotton-soft in the morning light.
My heart feels heavier the closer we get. The pressure within my ribs builds until I feel like I might burst. As the plane begins to descend into Barcelona, I tighten my grip around Maksim. He stirs but doesn’t wake.
The clouds part. The city stretches out below us, sun-washed and sprawling. This is a temporary stop before the world tilts again. I adjust my scarf. Check our documents one more time, and steel myself.
We find a quiet corner in the layover lounge—far from the crowds, near a wide window overlooking the runway. Maksim munches on crackers and sips apple juice, legs swinging from the chair, humming a tune he made up five minutes ago.
I scroll through the flight app again. Our next leg—Barcelona to New York—is on time. Just over eight hours until we land.
I tuck my phone against my chest and glance at Maksim. He’s making his crackers talk to each other in Spanish, oblivious to the war inside my chest.
I take a breath, then pull up a contact I haven’t touched in years.
Cristóbal.
My finger hovers over the call button, then I press it. It rings twice before he answers.
“Hello?”
“It’s me,” I say quietly.
There’s silence on the other end.
Then a sharp gasp.
“Xiomara?!” There is disbelief, surprise, and anger in his voice. “No, I mean Judas. Is that you calling me?!”