I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, not only were my parents burning at the stake, but so was the plantation my Father worked so hard to make successful.

“¡Mamá… Papá!” I kept screaming over and over. The tears flowed down my cheeks and my voice was getting tired of screaming, but I couldn’t stop. I had a small glimmer of hope that those weren’t my parents, that somehow those were some workers and mis padres had gotten away from whoever did something so horrible.

I awoke the next morning on top of the ashes that used to be mi casa with my face feeling tight and dry. I didn’t want to get up or do anything, but lay here and cry, until I heard the faint footsteps on the ashes of what used to be my life; my Father’s hard work.

“Gabriél? ¿Qué estas hacendo aquí?” Andres asked. I got up to bow, but he stopped me. He saw I had been crying. “You’ve been crying. Gabriél, what happened to the plantation? Where are your father and mother?”

I trusted Andres. I trusted him so much.

“They were burned.”