[This one doesn't count as a chapter. ;) ]

A seven-year-old boy sits on a beige tiled floor, playing with the brand new toys his tía had given to him only a couple of days ago. As he gazes down at his new set of action cars, his tía watches him with a smile that she could never seem to drop when he was around. He was as precious to her as he was to his parents. The boy loved all three of them with as much passion as his young mind could comprehend, and it helped that they were the only real family he had.

         He and his parents were on a mini vacation once again to visit his tía. They did this almost once a month and the young boy hoped that one day they would finally settle in Manhattan like tía has so he can see her every day. Even when he is too young really care, he's already grown tired of all of the moving and traveling. He'd love to someday show off all of his toys to actual friends. Tía and his parents are enough to sate his bragging, though.

         Like every mini vacation they have here, his parents are out to spend time together once again. They're always so busy keeping their eyes on him that they barely have time for themselves. Thankfully, the young boy's tía is always willing to take care of him on her own. It's not as if he misbehaves and causes trouble. Despite being a relatively lonesome child, the boy doesn't suffer from any temperament issues and social ineptness. It's as if he isn't sent off to different schools in different cities more than what's normal, or that sometimes he's even homeschooled by his mother.

         It's always been this way for him: no long-term friends, no staying in one school for more than half a year, no permanent home to, well, call home. The boy watches TV shows and see what normal kids have to put up with. He doesn't deal with fallen friendships over taking the last crayon box, or that one mean kid that bullies him all of the time. He never even knew bullies were a 'thing' until he watched TV. The only people who were at all concerned for his social life were his tía and himself. All his parents focused on was keeping him happy, educated, and "within arm's reach" at all times. The young boy is too young to speak or think for himself, yet all he's ever done is think to himself when there's nothing else but TV and toys to entertain him. That's why he always loves being with tía: she's the truest friend he's ever had.

         It was long past midnight and the boy was still rattling with energy. His tía was growing curious. The parents were supposed to be back by the turn of 12 o'clock. The movie they went to see wouldn't keep them at the theater for so long. She sent a text to the boy's father, her brother, asking what was stalling them. He never responded.

         The boy, still shuffling around on his knees pretending to race his cars against each other, was still buzzing. He had to get sleep, yet his tía knew that would be difficult without his parents here. He would only sleep if they were back home. If not, anyone should lose all hope of getting the boy to close his eyes for more than three seconds.

         He was unaware of his tía's growing concern for his parents; not even recognizing how nervous she was getting when she paced behind the couch for twenty minutes straight. What ended up snapping her out of her anxious trance was the ringing of her cellphone. Thinking it was the boy's father, she yanked it out of her back pocket without even checking the screen. Once she answered the call and said a hurried "Hey!", an unfamiliar voice spoke to her. She listened closely while all the boy could hear was warbled murmurs.

         Suddenly, his tía began to shake her head and cursed in Spanish (the boy can never understand her and his parents when they do that, which is why they do it when he shouldn't overhear something sensitive). His tía, faster that he's ever seen her move, ran for her bedroom and came back with her coat draped over one arm, keys in her other hand, and the phone squeezed against her cheek and shoulder. Once the phone call was over, she ordered the young boy to put his shirt and shoes on. He wasn't sure why she was in such a rush, but from the way tears streamed down her face, there was no way he could question it.

         He was quick to do as she said, and, before he knew it, she was dragging him by the hand out of the apartment and towards the elevator to get to the lobby. During the entire ride down and the race out of the building, his tía held his hand tighter than she has ever done. Feeling the adrenaline in her grip and seeing the horror in her tearful eyes made him want to cry, yet he didn't know why exactly he should. The boy was left to question this until him and his tía arrived at Bellevue Hospital.

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         Jamie Julio Vega: Time of delivery to Bellevue Hospital—2:09am. Time of death: 12:00am (approx.).

         Catalina Castro: Time of delivery to Bellevue Hospital—2:09am. Time of death: 12:ooam (approx.).

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         The boy had his reason to cry now, and every single tear that ran down his face was more excruciating than the last. 

And with every moment that he had recalled this horrible memory as he grew up, the tears he had once shed so often gradually became faint ghosts, along with the simple life he could never get back.