But then my feelings shifted. I decided that precisely because our time as a family unit might come to an end sooner rather than later, it would be best if we tried to remain together as long as possible. The rupture might be inevitable, but I was still not ready to be the one to cause it. I wasn’t ready to let go. Up until that moment, I truly believed that I had my life under control, that my husband and I were a team, and that we had our life as figured out as possible. As it turned out, NOTHING was in my control.
I called my father, seeking comfort and advice.
“Papá, I have nothing, I have no idea what’s to come. I don’t know what to do.”
And, just as he’d done at other times in my life when my own thoughts had made me feel helpless, he cleared my mind with his wisdom.
“This too shall pass,” he said calmly. “There is a solution to every problem, there are inevitable consequences, but there’s no need to fret and worry so much beforehand. We do not know what is to come. Don’t let your mind be your worst enemy. There is no point in letting negative and destructive thoughts control us.”
My father continued to call me from Guatemala every twelve hours to ask how I was, to tell me that I was not alone, and that I had all his support; I felt blessed.
On August 5, 2014, my children, the nanny, and I returned to Guatemala as originally planned. Back home, I spent weeks suffering panic attacks, falling prey to my worst thoughts, going over every detail that was available to me to see if it could all finally make sense in my mind. But nothing made sense. I was inside a whirlwind of change, and I would’ve been sucked into its vacuum had it not been for the one thing that remained constant in my life: the continuous and determined support of my family and friends. They say you learn how few friends you can truly count on when you are in the hospital, in prison, or in financial trouble. I now know how many wonderful people surround my life’s journey, a ray of light during dark and stormy times.
And when I asked myself how I could remain by my husband’s side after the devastating news, the answers were simple: because I loved him for so many other reasons, because he was my partner, because he made a mistake, and because my family without him still made no sense to me.
—
Exactly a month after the devastating news, I decided to go on my first job interview in over twenty years. I had no idea whether I would get the job, but I knew I had to do something. Given the circumstances, it was likely I would have to sell everything, learn to live a simpler life, and work for a living. I really had no idea what was in store for me, but I knew I needed to keep moving forward. So, I interviewed at AYUVI, Fundación Ayúdame a Vivir, which raises funds to benefit children with cancer in Guatemala. Drowning in my personal and financial worries, I had been blind to truly unimaginable sadness until that day.
When I arrived, I was given a tour of the hospital, and met very sick children from extremely low-income families who were battling for their lives. And yet they were the lucky ones, benefitting from the amazing work AYUVI does on their behalf to get them the treatment they deserve. I was so inspired that I left the interview praying I would get the job, hoping to be part of that team dedicated to saving lives. I threw my wish out into the universe and thought, God knows best.
I have never considered myself a religious person, but I do believe in God and feel that the best way to honor Him is to trust that He knows best. So, even as my life was being turned upside down, as fear and anxiety invaded every cell of my body, I stood by that statement. I felt comfort in believing that even though I may not understand God’s will at any given time, there is a divine purpose to everything.
A few days later, the phone rang: I got the job! On September 16, 2014, I began working as Fundraising and Public Relations Coordinator for the USA at AYUVI. Visiting that hospital changed my life forever. Witnessing firsthand how those children fought for their lives gave me the courage I needed to continue moving forward with mine. They will continue to be an inspiration to me for the rest of my life.
—
As 2014 came to a close, I found that once again I had purpose in my life. I had devised a wonderful art project and was looking forward to implementing it, sure that it would raise much-needed funds to benefit the children’s cancer hospital. I was meeting new people, enjoying the Guatemalan art scene, and working comfortably from home, near my children. I felt useful and productive, and truly believed I was beginning to rebuild my life.
Meanwhile, my relationship with my husband was nonexistent. We lived in the same house but led separate lives. I was doing all I could to mitigate any other drastic changes in my children’s lives, but my marriage had crumbled and could not be put back together again. My husband claimed that he had no money and no place to go, and I was at a loss. After all, he was the father of our two wonderful children. How could I possibly explain to them one day that I had thrown him out on the street when he was destitute? So, he remained at home.
Months passed, living in this surreal world where nothing made much sense, yet it existed and seemed to move along somehow. My art project was making amazing headway, my children were adapting to their new school, and life continued.
Then, in early 2015, my husband informed me that he would be moving out of the house, which meant newfound peace for me, but I knew it would be a blow for Nina and Fabián. As much as we both tried to make it all seem OK to our children, such feeling is usually not possible when families break up. I know this to be true since I was Nina and Fabi’s age when my family fell apart.
So suddenly there I was, a forty-six-year-old woman, a single mother to five-year-old twins, starting a new life after a devastating heartbreak. But I was now free to choose my new path, I was free to reinvent myself, free to start over, free from so many lies. Or so I thought . . .
Chapter 3
My First Hearing
I woke up startled. As I opened my eyes and turned my head away from the concrete wall I was facing, I saw a guard on the other side of the metal bars staring at me. Carmen was awake and asked him for the time. It was impossible for us to know the time since we had no watch, no cell phone, there was no clock, and the sunlight did not reach our underground cell. “It’s 4:10 a.m.,” replied the guard. The basement was calmer at this time of night, but there was still constant yelling, metal doors clanking, and electric lights buzzing overhead. I turned my head back around, closed my eyes, and did my best to continue sleeping a little while longer.
It must have been around 6:30 a.m. when the doors clanked open and the first prisoners of the day—two women from a prison called Centro de Orientación Femenina (COF)—walked into our cell. I got up from my bench, used the restroom, and began to think about what I would say to the judge. Unlike Carmen, who had spent months preparing for this possibility, I had only learned about my predicament less than twenty-four hours earlier, when my attorney, whom I had met for the first time the day before, had brought a copy of Olyslager’s accusations against me and had asked me to read it. “Prepare to give a statement in front of the judge,” he had said, and added that I should claim my innocence, explain that I did not know this man, and even cry, if possible. Welcome to the world of justice, where he who tells the best story wins.
My hearing was scheduled for 9 a.m., and I still had no idea what I should or would say. While I waited for news or contact of any kind from the outside world, I folded Carmen’s blanket and offered what food I had left to the newly arrived women. Meanwhile, Carmen changed into a blouse and a pair of pants, which were way too long for the flat shoes she was wearing. She sat on the bench next to me and began applying her makeup, wielding magic with the tiny makeup case she had been given. Once done, she glanced over at me and asked, “Do I look OK?”