In silence we make our way back to El Palo. There I invite Michael to his favorite dish, crepes. While we eat I tell him for the first time about Luciano and that I wish they get to know each other and – so I hope – will be friends. "Mom, you must know what you're doing. But I don´t want to see you sad again if this doesn´t work out.” is Michael's commentary. I explain that to me everything is fine at the moment and I am very happy with Luciano: "Michael there is no guarantee for a relationship lasting a lifetime. Should we break up one day, I am prepared to take the pain of separation, because I think it's worth it." I show Michael the photos I took of Luciano and stored in my digital camera. Michael admits: "Well, as long as you are happy, it´s ok with me." I hug my son and give him a kiss he tries to ward off in embarrassment. While we talk I take a few photos of Michael. I have the feeling that he is relieved the issue of Brazil is off the table finally and thanks to Luciano the Jefferson chapter as well. A short while later I set Michael off at Miguel’s place. Once again, I hug my son, he remarks with a grin: "You act as if you're going away for a whole year, man, this is not the first time you went away without me." He gets out the car, waves at me briefly, changes the roadside and disappears into the front yard of the house where Miguel lives and where we have stayed about two years before we moved into the house on the beach at El Palo. This is the last time I see my son.

Saturday morning, I am still tempted to ‘forget’ the bed-quilts in the hotel. But out of fear for Michael, I reject this idea again. I take a taxi to the airport, where I pack my luggage on a trolley and do my best to appear outwardly calm. Internally, my nerves are strained to a tearing point. I am joining the line for the business-class check-in. When my turn comes and my luggage is already partially loaded onto the conveyor belt, I hear a man's voice beside me, muttering something unintelligible which I understand as "Polish?" I answer: "No, I am not polish.” Then this - as I only now register - unsympathetic man repeats what he had said before and this time I understand clearly: "Police, can I ask to examine your luggage?" - "This cannot be true," I just think as everything around me begins to turn. But I pull myself together with all the strength and struggle to maintain my composure. As calmly as possible, I say: "Please!" The lady from the check-in desk gives me a strange look and hands out my suitcase to the police. He now speaks low, but with a threatening undertone: "I've been waiting for you. We received a phone call and were informed when you want to leave, with an accurate description of you." He now has loaded all my luggage back again onto the baggage car and asks me to follow him.
We enter a room where the policeman opens the suitcase again and immediately with a knife, cuts open the package of sheets. For me it's all so absurd, so surreal as if I would watch a bad movie. It is as if I stand by and watch it and it is not really concerning me. The cocaine trickles out of the box and I am being placed in front to take photographs. Then handcuffs are clicking. I let everything happen to me totally passively in my state of shock. Then something in my head says to me: "You must do something! Do not let it happen just like that!" So I explain that I knew nothing of the cocaine. Meanwhile I am surrounded by policemen. Also, I notice a woman, a cleaner or so, which - as they tell me – is acting as a witness. Other female travelers are led into the room and their luggage is superficially examined but everybody is sent to go. It occurs to me one of these women, who has an almost empty suitcase, the police touching up the bottom, changing looks, whispering to each other and after asking the woman whether she always travels with an empty suitcase, they send her away also. It is obvious that she was hiding drugs in the bottom of the suitcase, but the policemen are only focused on me and the rest of my luggage. Finally they give me a list of my personal belongings to be signed: 400 Euro, 30 Reais, a digital camera and a mobile phone. I'm much too shocked to realize this is only a small part of my luggage. When my mind finally registers this is not a bad movie or a horrible nightmare but the bitter reality, I burst into sobs of despair. But it doesn´t help me. I am led in handcuffs through the lobby of the airport to the police car feeling the glances of other passengers and I feel so humiliated as never before in my life.