It was a delightful summer afternoon and, to my greatest surprise, calm and quiet were approaching.

Dad was about to take my mischievous and unruly siblings to a birthday celebration. The lively infants exuded restlessness and impatience. In whispers they were making plans to follow, their complicit gazes denoted happiness. It would be a fun afternoon for them and a hard one for Dad.

We stayed at home, just Mom and me. Mom went to her garden, she had the time she needed to share impressions with her floral beauties.

"Ma'am, I've finished my chores," she would say to Mom "Thank you daughter for your help. Look in Daddy's study. There's something for you," Mom would point out to me, from the garden "I'm coming, ma'am." So I did and when I arrived, on the desk was a crochet knitting magazine "Thank you so much Mom", I replied excitedly "It's a gift from Aunt Conche" Mom said "When I see it I'll thank you" I replied and walked hurriedly, I was impatient to devour the contents.

Without wasting time, I headed for my favorite place in the house, The Burrow of Happiness, represented by a large hallway, a cozy space where calm, peace, and comfort assaulted you. That's how Dad baptized it and the truth is that he wasn't wrong. It was not an ostentatious or sumptuous place, its furnishings were simple, but it echoed family memories, customs, and traditions. Reminiscences of travels, impregnated and permeated the corners with possession. It was a space to have fun in moments of recreation and distraction, with family and/or friends.

The chinchorros and hammock area has always been my weakness, my Achilles heel. Those hand-woven hanging beds, instigators of sweet serenity, faithful companions of our family life. True works of art, with multicolored prints, impeccably finished, posing boastfully, like divas in their different styles and shapes. Yes, presumptuous traces of a past, of identity, of history, of a country.

Aunt Conche was older than my mother. Short in stature, a little chubby, very short and wavy hair, with big and cheerful eyes, a little restless and sometimes explosive character, zealous and inquisitive with the rules, with an extraordinary vivacity and ability for business.

She had a prosperous business and was doing very well, along with her husband and her only daughter, Caridad, my cousin. The aunt had tried on several occasions to have more children but had been unable to have them, only my cousin. Her life was comfortable, with opportunities to spoil herself.

Aunt Conche was an important part of my upbringing and a great help to us as a family. She always took care of us and made sure we lacked for nothing. We lived with just enough, without lacking the necessities, but without excesses. When they occurred, even if they were not expressed by Mom or Dad, I knew that behind them was his magic wand.

"Ring, ring, ring" the phone rang "Answer it, Maria, please" "I'm coming ma'am" I picked up the speaker and it was my aunt Conche "All good, good, mom is coming, aunt" Mom was hurrying back from the garden "Hello sister, good to hear from you, talk to me" "Perfect, perfect I'll have everything ready" "Thank you very much for including us, kisses to Caridad, greetings to your husband" Mom hung up the phone.

Out of respect, I didn't ask about the conversation. But I felt a fervent curiosity. As if reading my thoughts, Mom looked me straight in the eye and with a mischievous laugh expressed, "In a month we will travel to the beach house. Your aunt made the reservation and canceled the stay for a week, as she does every year."

It was already confirmed, so I activated the calendar and crossed off the days as they progressed.

There was only one thing that bothered me as always and that was the behavior of my cousin Caridad. We didn't share much, it was difficult to get along and understand her. She was capricious, haughty, and arrogant...

The long-awaited day arrived. We ran from one side to the other, packing suitcases, bags, and everything else.

Already on the road, the landscapes evolved and transformed, our senses were stimulated. From the car window, I could see a great row of lush and majestic palm trees on both sides of the road, swaying rhythmically, welcoming us. Likewise, the sun was shining in all its splendor and the atmosphere was impregnated with that undeniable smell of the sea. There was no doubt, we had arrived at Tucacas beach, to paradise.

At my side, my small backpack contained my sunglasses, camera, and notebook. I wrote down the landscapes I observed. The camera allowed me to capture and freeze moments, which would later come to life through words.

"We're here, we're here" my brothers shouted. We immediately ran to see the sea and get our feet wet. What a feeling of well-being and happiness. As the oldest of the little ones, it was my turn to keep an eye on my brothers and Caridad.

My concern was Caridad, she always refused to follow instructions and liked to wander, explore, and worst of all without warning. That was real torture for me, every year.

Everyone played in front of me, my brothers, and Caridad. Everything was under control.

I looked up to the horizon and visualized how one by one the colors that adorned the firmament spread out and made their entrance. Shades of blue, orange, and yellow competed to occupy a larger space, in a sunset in which the sun gradually withdrew from the encounter. I remained fascinated and abstract, enjoying the phenomenon that nature was giving me.

After a few minutes, I looked at the children. The worst was over, Caridad was nowhere to be seen. I questioned my siblings, but none of them could guide me. I was worried, my heartbeat was racing and I was sweating profusely. How was I going to tell my parents and aunts and uncles what had happened? I was not thinking clearly, I was anxious and desperate. Soon it would be dark.

I plucked up my courage and told them. My aunt Conche, who couldn't stop crying, cradled me tightly and desperately. Her eyes, inquisitive and disappointed, kept repeating: "Where is he? Where is he? Where is he? I, in tears, answered: "I can't find her I can't find her" My mother intervened, tried to calm her down, hugged me, and cuddled me in her lap.

Everyone was actively involved in the search. Soon it would be dark. They were looking for her everywhere, there was no time to lose. This experience represented one of the most distressing events of my life.

An hour later, in the distance, a man approached with a little girl by the hand. It was Caridad, overcome with the terror of feeling lost in a place and knowing no one. She ran and hugged her mother. We were all overjoyed and gave thanks with raised hands to the majestic sunset for listening to our petitions. Now it was my turn to wait humbly for the reprimand and punishment for my carelessness.

We gathered as a family. The parents talked about the event and the risks of being disobedient and not following instructions. To my surprise, they did not scold me. On the contrary, they acknowledged that they had not left those responsibilities to me. They said I was there to have a good time, no strings attached.

That night we built a bonfire and we all sat around it, shared anecdotes and jokes. The contingency experience triggered a series of events between Caridad and me that strengthened our family bond, forever. With patience, we learned to understand our differences, to accept them with love, without generating inequalities in us. From that night on, nothing would ever be the same again.