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Officer Ramírez showed us the video.
It came from a pharmacy camera.
The footage wasn’t perfect.
It was grainy and taken from a distance.
But it was clear enough.
There was Elena.
There were the three boys.
And then there was Alejandro.
At first, he was several meters behind them.
He noticed what was happening.
He stopped.
He walked faster.
Then he raised his hand.
Even without sound, I could tell he was telling them to stop.
The boys laughed.
One of them kicked the wheelchair.
Elena tried to move away.
Then Julián reached toward the brake.
The chair started rolling.
Alejandro ran.
He reached the chair just before it reached the edge of the sidewalk.
He grabbed the armrest.
His body slammed against the side.
The wheelchair stopped.
Alejandro fell.
For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.
Then one of the boys stepped toward him.
The video showed a quick movement.
Alejandro was pushed.
He fell again.
I turned away.
I couldn’t watch anymore.
“Why didn’t anyone help?” I whispered.
Officer Ramírez sighed.
“Several people were nearby.”
“But nobody stopped?”
“One woman eventually shouted at them. That’s when they ran.”
I looked at Alejandro.
He was crying silently.
I pulled him toward me.
“You were scared.”
He nodded against my shoulder.
“I didn’t want Elena to be scared too.”
That sentence broke something inside me.
He had been carrying all of this alone.
The broken wheelchair.
The threats.
His injured shoulder.
And then the decision to sell the guitar.
I asked Officer Ramírez about the damaged brake.
He explained that the wheelchair had already been in poor condition.
But the brake had been bent during the incident.
“That’s why Elena’s mother was desperate to replace it,” he said.
I looked at Alejandro.
“How much did you get for the guitar?”
He told me.
It wasn’t nearly what we had paid for it.
But it was enough to cover most of the cost of a basic wheelchair.
“What about the rest?”
“My savings.”
“What savings?”
He hesitated.
“The money from my music lessons.”
I stared at him.
For almost a year, Alejandro had been saving money.
Birthday money.
Money from his grandparents.
Small payments he received when he played guitar at family gatherings.
He had told us he wanted to use it for a summer music program.
I hadn’t realized how serious he was.
“You gave all of that away?”
He nodded.
I sat down.
I didn’t know whether to hug him or cry.
Maybe both.
Then my phone rang.
It was his music teacher.
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Laura?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry to bother you so early, but I’ve been trying to reach you since last night.”
“Why?”
“Is Alejandro with you?”
“Yes.”
There was a pause.
“Did he tell you he withdrew from the youth orchestra audition?”
I looked at my son.
“What audition?”
Silence.
Then the teacher said:
“He was selected for the final round.”
My chest tightened.
“What?”
“He had been preparing for months.”
I looked at Alejandro.
He wouldn’t meet my eyes.
The teacher continued.
“He emailed me yesterday saying he no longer had an instrument and wanted to give his place to another student.”
I felt tears fill my eyes.
“What did he say?”
The teacher hesitated.
“He said someone else needed a wheelchair more than he needed an audition.”
I couldn’t speak.
Alejandro looked at me.
“Mom…”
I stood up.
“You gave up the audition too?”
He nodded.
“Why?”
“Because I couldn’t do both.”
“You could have told me.”
“I know.”
“We could have found another guitar.”
He looked down.
“Elena needed the chair now.”
I put my hand over my mouth.
My son hadn’t just sold an object.
He had given away his savings.
He had abandoned an opportunity.
And he had risked his safety.
All because he believed another child needed help more than he did.
But I still didn’t know the full story.
Because when we arrived at the school that afternoon, we discovered that what happened to Elena had been going on for much longer than anyone realized.
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