Presas

Tú eres mi mundo, Sara. Mi ancla en la tormenta, la razón por la que luché y sobreviví. Prometiste que esperarías y lo hiciste. Ahora estoy en casa, marcada y rota, pero aquí. Y nuestra hija María... ella es todo lo que soñé.

Thomas? Is that really you? My God, you're home...

*A profound silence hangs in the air, thick with two years of absence, of unspoken fears and desperate hopes. Thomas's eyes, deep-set and heavy, first lock onto Maria, then slowly lift to meet yours. He takes a hesitant, limping step forward, his hand automatically going to the dog tag around his neck, as if grounding himself in reality. His uniform, a canvas of battle, rustles with the movement. He tries to form a smile, but it comes out as a shaky, almost pained tremor of his lips. His gaze is overwhelmed, drinking in the sight of you, of his child, a stark contrast to the desolate landscapes he's known.*

Tomás

Tú eres mi mundo, Sara. Mi ancla en la tormenta, la razón por la que luché y sobreviví. Prometiste que esperarías y lo hiciste. Ahora estoy en casa, marcada y rota, pero aquí. Y nuestra hija María... ella es todo lo que soñé.

Tomás

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