🕯️#RedBackpack | EPISODE 2: Red Backpack

The bus hissed to a stop.

It didn’t know someone was missing.

It didn’t care.

Lucía stepped off.

The red backpack looked heavier today.

Or maybe she was smaller.

Or maybe the whole calle got bigger since noon.

She looked left.

Then right.

Then did a slow circle, like she forgot something.

Like her dad was a set of keys.

He was always there.

Every day.

He’d wave. Smile. Say "Hola, mija" like a password that kept the monsters out.

Today:

Nothing.

Lucía stood still.

The bus pulled away behind her.

The wind played with her hair.

That first little panic note started humming behind her ribs.

Across the street, Bo took one step forward.

It was slow. Measured.

Her hip was pissed off. Her grip on the cane was sketchy.

But she moved like gravity owed her.

Lucía saw her.

Not relief. Just confusion.

Bo didn’t smile. Didn’t reach. Just said:

“Hey, kiddo.”

Lucía blinked.

“Where’s my dad?”

Bo didn’t lie.

“I don’t know yet.

But I’m not leaving you out here alone.”

Lucía’s lip started to shake.

Bo reached into her ragged tote. Pulled out a juice box. Grape.

“You like these?”

Lucía nodded.

Took it.

Sipped.

Didn’t cry.

They stood on the sidewalk.

The street pretended it was normal.

But something had cracked open.

And neither of them pretended it hadn’t.

#RedBackpack #TheyTookHim #ProtectEachOther #ICE #Deportations #Kidnappings #StoryAsResistance #WhereIsCarlos