The familiar iron gates of Casa de los Niños appeared through the dusty car window like a lighthouse beacon cutting through the storm of institutional betrayal that had consumed Mateo's world.
Seven years had passed since he first walked through these gates as a frightened eight-year-old, and now at sixteen, he was returning not as a conquering hero but as a wounded soul seeking the healing that only unconditional love could provide.
Don Carlos guided the car through the entrance with the careful precision of someone who understood that this moment represented both an ending and a beginning.
The elderly man's weathered hands gripped the steering wheel with quiet determination, his eyes reflecting the pain of watching his surrogate son endure institutional cruelty that no child should ever face.
Sister María Elena stood waiting in the courtyard, her presence a testament to the constancy and compassion that had shaped Mateo's earliest years.
