I remember the moment I left my country. I was 14 years old, living in Honduras. I was with my little sister, who was 12, and together we faced many challenges and experiences — some beautiful, but mostly difficult — as we made our way to the border to turn ourselves in to immigration. I will never forget that day, because it was an incredibly difficult decision for two kids as young as us. We had to leave our entire lives behind, but we did it for a better one. When we received the news that we were going to have to emigrate from Honduras to the United States — alone, just the two of us, from one moment to the next — it hit us hard. We had to prepare quickly, gathering only the most basic and essential things for what was going to be a very long and difficult trip. It was a secret from almost everyone. Even my father never found out we had left the country. The hardest part started right from the beginning, as if something didn't want us to leave. We were supposed to be taken to a meeting point where the person guiding us to the US border was waiting. That's when everything started to go wrong. The border authorities in Honduras detained my uncles, who were our guides, accusing my uncle of being a ringleader in child trafficking. Fortunately, he had connections with people in higher positions of authority, and we managed to get out of that trouble. By then it had gotten very late, and we thought we had lost our chance entirely — the meeting time had already passed. But somehow, everything was resolved and we were able to leave. I felt so sad watching everyone go through those problems, because the only thought in my mind was, "I'm not going to see my mom yet." That feeling was mixed with guilt — like I had betrayed my dad by leaving without saying a word or saying goodbye. I won't deny that I was scared. But I held onto one thing: after three years apart, I was going to hug my mom again.