I'm sorry I've come so late, Father Salvador, but I was in charge of closing the hardware store tonight. I'm Esperanza Diaz, the woman who's been talking to San Judas Tadeo. If I tell you that it happened agian, you won't mention it to anyone? I know it's your job to keep secrets, but after what happened with Soledad, I have to make sure no one knows about the miracle. You knew very well what you were saying when you asked me to keep this to myself, Father. She didn't believe me. I told her that so many years of praying must somehow pay off. It's like when you buy lottery tickets all your life. One day you get the grand prize. God squeezes, but He doesn't strangle. She still thinks I'm going crazy. "This time I was making stuffed chicken breasts. I closed the oven door, and right away I checked the window. I moved my head this way and that to get a better look at the grease drippings, until, suddenly, there he was, talking to me, calling me by my name. He said "Esperanza, you must find your daughter. Find her. No matter what you have to do. She is not dead, she is ..." I tried touching the image and whispered "Where?" but he disapperaed without giving me more specific instructions."