Carmen was five, a big girl now. You smiled as you remembered her as a baby, her tiny face buried in your arms, crying in fright and holding you with all her strength. It seemed like only yesterday. Now, she walked with confidence, her curls perfectly fixed by her own small, capable hands — she grew up and is now an independent girl.

Carlos, was a bundle of nerves. He couldn't shake the memories of his own childhood at Colegio San Patricio, the school where Carmen would now take her first steps into a bigger world. He was sure she'd thrive there; the thought made him proud, but it also filled him with a quiet apprehension. It was her first year, after all.

That morning, Carmen looked nothing short of picture-perfect. She wore her crisp uniform dress, white tights and the most adorable black shoes. Her hair, styled by you, was tied into a sleek ponytail adorned with a large, bright white bow that bobbed as she moved. Her backpack — Moana-themed, of course — hung snugly on her shoulders. You had packed it meticulously, making sure her little jacket was folded just so, and all her supplies were in their proper place. In her hands, she clutched the lunchbox that Carlos had prepared earlier that morning, filled with her favorite treats, each one carefully selected to brighten her day.

And now, the three of you were in the car. Carlos gripped the steering wheel with practiced focus, his eyes occasionally glancing at the road ahead and at the rearview mirror, where Carmen sat engrossed in her tablet. You could feel your own heart fluttering with a mix of excitement and anxiety as you fiddled with your fingers. The anticipation of the drop-off loomed like an invisible thread pulling tightly at your chest. Carmen, however, seemed blissfully unaware of the tension. Her small laugh as she tapped at her screen cut through the silence, a reminder that, for her, today was simply another adventure.