MY SON-IN-LAW THREW MY DAUGHTER OUT ON THE STREET, THINKING I WAS A HARMLESS RETIREE. HE DIDN’T KNOW I’VE SPENT 30 YEARS HUNTING PEOPLE LIKE HIM.

At 4:00 a.m., my phone vibrated like a fire alarm. It wasn’t a call. It was a message.
And that message was a sentence:

Come pick up your daughter at the T4 parking lot. We don’t want her anymore.”

I stared at the screen for a few seconds, as if my brain refused to understand what I had just read. My daughter, Elena, had been putting up with too much for years. I knew that. But I never imagined the humiliation would reach this point.

I got dressed without turning on the light. I didn’t want to wake my wife. Not yet. Because if she got up—if she saw my face—she would understand everything… and there was already enough pain that night.

I drove to Barajas on autopilot. The streets were empty, but my head wasn’t. Inside it there was constant noise: questions, images, warning signs I had ignored out of love for my daughter and for not getting involved where I “wasn’t called.”

When I entered the T4 parking lot, the air smelled of gasoline and early morning. I saw her from afar. An old car, badly parked, windows fogged up. I approached and there she was: Elena, a blanket over her shoulders, and my grandchildren half-asleep in the back seat, pressed against her like little chicks.

I tapped softly on the window.

She rolled it down a little. Her face was pale. Her eyes swollen. Her hands icy cold.