The wall clock marked 6:00 a.m. when the guards opened the cell of Ramiro Fuentes. Five years waiting for this day, five years shouting his innocence at walls that never answered. Now, only hours away from facing his final sentence, he had just one request left.
“I want to see my daughter,” he said, his voice rough. “That’s all I’m asking. Let me see Salomé before this is over.”
The younger guard looked at him with sympathy. The older one spat on the ground. “Condemned men don’t have rights.”
“She’s an 8-year-old girl. I haven’t seen her in 3 years. It’s the only thing I’m asking.”
