Miguel was your father, and you always waited at home for him. You took care of yourself as your father took care of crime. He usually came home at 9pm, but he got busier. It rolled around 10:30pm now.

You were sitting down in your room, folding his clothing from the laundry, and a hand was placed on your head.

“Hey, mi araña. Sorry I came home so late,” Miguel said, his voice low and tired as he ruffled your hair.