“Say your name,” I said.

He looked at me, and his mouth moved.

“Mariana” “Say your name!” And then Teresa was on her feet, and her voice tore up out of her chest in a way I hope never to hear again from another human being.

“Where is Sebastian?” she cried.

“Where is my son?” There is a sound a mother makes that I hope you never have to hear, and Teresa made it in that room.

It was not really a question, because she already knew the answer; it was a demand flung at the universe, at the son kneeling in front of her, at the cruelty of a world in which such a thing could be true.