There was a time when this house was full.
Easter Sunday meant something here. It was the meeting point. The doors remained open, the kitchen never rested, and the tables filled with more food than anyone could need. There was no shortage of wine, beer, or laughter. Everything flowed naturally.
The children… lived for that day.
They ran through these hallways with a joy that only children know, searching for colorful eggs hidden all over the garden. But it was the golden egg that everyone wanted—the hardest to find, with a twenty-dollar bill folded inside. That was the prize. That was the treasure.
Their laughter filled every corner of the house. Loud. Overflowing. Sometimes almost unbearable.
But at the end of the day, that noise… it was everything.
Because they were happy.
And that was my duty.
To ensure that they were happy on days like Easter.
And before all of that… there was her.
I still think of my grandmother in the kitchen, carefully preparing her special recipe for stuffed eggs—those that only she knew how to make. It was her ritual. Her way of embracing the day. Easter was one of her favorite holidays.
She loved Easter lilies.
I can still see them… bright, delicate, full of life, resting in the house while everything else moved around them. Just like her.
I miss her.
And during this Easter season, I think of her more than ever.
Today was different.
The house was silent.
There were no footsteps running down the hallway. There were no voices calling from the yard. There was no laughter bouncing off the walls. Just silence… the kind that settles softly but remains.
And yet, there is peace in it.
Because those same children—the ones who once ran through this house searching for a golden egg—now have their own children. Now it is they who hide the eggs, who create the laughs, who build the memories.
The cycle continues.
So tonight I sit here, with a glass of wine, surrounded not by noise, but by memories. And I find myself smiling… not just for what was, but for what still is.
Because somewhere, not too far from here, another house is full.
Another kitchen is alive.
Another group of children is laughing.
And perhaps, in some corner, there is a grandmother preparing something special… and a vase with lilies receiving the light.
And someday, they too will look back and remember a place like this…
a house full of love, noise, and the simple joy of being together.
Leo Silva is a former special agent in charge of the DEA (Monterrey Office) and author of Reign of Terror and El Reinado de Terror. With decades of experience on the front lines of the fight against transnational cartels, Silva offers readers an intimate look at some of the most dangerous operations aimed at high-level leaders and organizations.
Since the publication of his memoirs, Silva has become a recognized voice in the media and in the speaking circuit. His story and analysis have been featured in interviews with Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist Jorge Ramos on Univision (Así veo las cosas), three-time Emmy-winning journalist Paco Cobos (La Entrevista), and Ana Paulina (Voces con Ana Paulina), where his participation generated millions of views. He has also been invited to prominent platforms like the podcast Cops and Writers with Patrick J. O’Donnell, Game of Crimes with Steve Murphy, and Llamados a Servir with Roberto Hernández.
Through his books, lectures, and media appearances, Silva continues to shed light on the realities of organized crime, the work of law enforcement, and the human cost of the war on drugs, while sharing lessons on resilience, leadership, and truth.
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