I left Ecuador during a time of political repression and fear. Under President León Febres Cordero, those who dared to speak out — friends, colleagues, people I worked alongside — were persecuted, jailed, tortured, and even killed for defending their communities. The space I called home became unstable, gripped by fear — no longer a place where I could remain. So I crossed borders, carrying what I could — memory, language, and the weight of leaving. Years later, a newspaper clipping arrived, listing names I knew. The memories came flooding back — sharp, uninvited, and heavy. This piece was born from that moment. From grief, from rage, and from the helplessness of remembering.