She lived alone in a poor town in Oaxaca, without a husband, without children, without close family. All my life I worked the milpa and sold in the market, saving every peso to survive.

That year, on a night of torrential rain, I found an abandoned baby at the entrance of a small church. He was still wrapped in an old, soaked blanket, crying at the top of his lungs.

No one wanted to take charge… So I did it.

I named him Diego, hoping that he would have an enlightened life and a bright future. Raising a child who doesn’t carry your blood is hard enough; raising him in poverty, much more. I borrowed from the neighbors and even requested a loan from the Welfare Bank to pay for food, milk and school supplies. There were days when I only ate tortilla with salt so that he could have a new notebook like the other children.

Diego grew up intelligent, obedient and reserved. He never called me “mom”, he always called me “aunt”, but I was not offended. All I wanted was for him to study and become a good man.

When I passed the university exam in Mexico City, I gathered every last peso I had and, with no other option, I mortgaged my small house to get more money from the bank. Diego lowered his head and said to me in a low voice:

“I’m going to make an effort, auntie. Wait for me to come back.

But he never returned.

Four years… then five… and nothing. Not a call, not a letter. I asked his classmates, even in college, and it was as if he had never existed. The phone number was cancelled and his address was no longer registered. I went on with my life, bent over by fatigue, selling vegetables at the flea market and collecting bottles at night to pay off the debt little by little.

Thirteen years after that first loan to raise him, I returned to the bank, my hands trembling, my back hunched over, and my vision already clouded. I was carrying all my papers and I said to the cashier:

“Miss, I’ve come to settle my debt. I want to pay for what’s missing, down to the last penny.

She typed into the computer, stared at me, and frowned.

“Wait for me a moment… This bill has already been paid… for two years?

I froze.

“What do you say?” ¿Who… who paid for it?

The cashier checked the screen again, and then read in a low voice:

—Note on the record: “I pay for my aunt—the only person who loved me unconditionally.”
—Sender: Diego Hernández.

I was out of breath. For an instant, my knees trembled so much that I had to hold on to the counter to keep from falling.

I hadn’t forgotten.
He had paid off the debt.
In silence… just as he had left.

Tears rolled down my cheeks right there on the bench. They weren’t angry, but because this old heart finally understood: it’s not that that orphaned child had abandoned me… but he was looking for a way to return, in his own way.