This story is not unique. It's honestly all too common.
It's 2019 in Tampa, Florida. It's summertime, and it's hot.
Jose was born in Xicoténcatl and came to this country looking for milk and honey. He loves his family more than Trump loves putting k...
Jose can't go more than two days without going down on me.
He says he's obsessed with the taste of my womanhood.
You should see the way he looks at me— everyone should have someone look at them that way at least once in their lives.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror— at the bags beneath my eyes. The lines across my face that tell my story. Proof that I love my family enough to work myself into the grave to give us a better life. I'm only 23, but I look 30— a far cry from the wavy-haired girl that my father used to call his Desert Rose.
I was nine months pregnant on my wedding day. I met Jose at a party— he and my cousin were friends. We were just a couple of stupid kids living in the green mountains of Xilitla who had nothing better to do than fall in love. I became a mother only a few weeks after becoming a wife.
I was never a skinny kid, but since I had Elena, my gut and hips have been out of control— I love her, but I will never forgive her for what she's done to my body.
At least my boobs are bigger— that's the only benefit of getting fat. Jose loves them— despite all the weight I've gained, he can't keep his hands off of me. I keep telling him that he's lucky I can't have any more children; otherwise, we'd have ten by now. I thank God every day for bringing this man into my life.
Our road to America was hard. Three men tried to rape me in Ciudad Victoria, but Jose fought them off. In Matamoros, the cartel attempted to kidnap Elena while she was sleeping, but I woke up and screamed. Again, Jose came running and saved us. They broke three of his ribs and fractured his hand. He acts like it doesn't bother him— but I know it didn't heal right and still causes him pain.
We live in constant fear that ICE will knock on the door and take away the life that we've sacrificed so much to build here, but we also live in love. We are lucky— our home has life, and that's more than a lot of people have.
I still miss my family back home though. My mother died last month— I didn't get a chance to say goodbye. Elena was just a baby the last time we saw each other. She never got the opportunity to hear her granddaughter's voice. I have hope that she hears it each Día de Los Muertos, and that she sees how hard we struggle for happiness, and that it makes her proud.
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