Nine o'clock in the evening, same day.
Timothy parked the 2020 Ford Raptor next to the road curb in Zaragoza Tondo Wet Market.
This was the place where his mother worked, and he could see from his seat where she was cleaning the stall she was helping with. The harsh fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a pale glow across the damp concrete. Buckets of water sloshed as his mother dragged them across the ground, scrubbing the tiles with a ragged brush. Her apron was stained, her slippers wet, her arms moving in steady rhythm born from habit, not choice.
Beside her, little Angela sat on an overturned plastic crate, swinging her legs idly. She clutched a small school bag against her chest, her uniform wrinkled from the day. Every now and then, she yawned, trying to stay awake as she waited for her mother to finish.
