For those of you, like me, who just want the basics of the story and don't want to read through 23 blog posts - here is a summary.
When Enrique first came to Charlotte in early 2024, it was supposed to be a new beginning. We’d known each other for almost 8 years, ever since a strange night in Bogotá, stayed in the back of both of our minds and this was meant to be the start of something steady - safety, stability, maybe even a little peace. Instead, months after arriving, a small misunderstanding spiraled into a nightmare neither of us could have imagined or prepared for.
He was detained suddenly, with no explanation I could get anyone to confirm. One day he was home; the next, he’d vanished into the system — transferred from facility to facility, each call costing more and connecting less. The few updates that trickled out made it clear he wasn’t being treated like a person. He was being processed.
When he landed at Alligator Alcatraz weeks after the center opened, the details that followed were worse than I’d feared. Cold food, no medical attention, and guards who treated human suffering like background noise. The phone system barely worked, the rules changed every day, and there was no sense of when, or if, he’d get out.
Months later, after 4 confirmed flights that he wasn't actually on - he was free.
But its a terrible kind of free. He landed in a city he didnt know that had no family or friends. He has no network and after a period of relief, the reality set in. What does one do when they have no ID, money, housing, or plan. He walked out of that facility into another kind of cage: one built from poverty, isolation, and the slow violence of starting over with nothing. The system had decided he no longer existed, but the consequences of it followed him every day.
This story isn’t just about Enrique. It’s about what happens when compassion is stripped from policy, and when people become paperwork. How easily the line between justice and cruelty disappears — and how rare it is for anyone to make it through intact.
That’s why this series exists, and why 50% of proceeds from everything I sell will go directly toward helping immigrant detainees rebuild their lives. Because release shouldn’t mean abandonment, and surviving shouldn’t depend on luck.