“Not yet. But… land. And a warehouse. I’m going to fix it. I’m going to make a home. And then I’m coming back for you. I promise.”
There was a long silence.
“Does it have a roof?”
I laughed with a lump in my throat.
“Yeah. It’s… almost all roof.”
“Then that’s something,” she whispered. “Take care, Leo.”
“You too. I love you.”
I hung up and stared at my reflection in the bus window: a kid with dark circles, carrying a black bag. An adult by decree. A child inside.
The notary’s office smelled of old wood and yellowed papers. Anselmo Figueroa was an older man with thick glasses, like he belonged to another era.
I placed the hundred-peso bill on his desk, half in disbelief.
“Sign here and here,” he said flatly.
I signed with a shaky handwriting that looked like middle school.
He leaned back and looked at me.
“Your grandfather bought that land thirty years ago. No electricity. No water. No road. The hangar… it’s pitiful. If you want advice from one adult to another: sell it. Someone already asked about it.”
He slid another paper across the desk. An offer from a company called Sierra Azul Developments: 150,000 pesos for the parcel “as is.”
My heart jumped. That money could pay rent, food, a lawyer…