When I got a flat tire in that forgotten garage on Federal X, it never crossed my mind that I was about to find the greatest treasure of my existence, my son whom I had been searching for for 24 years. Before continuing with this story, subscribe to the channel, activate the bell because every

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Give us a like and tell us in the comments what city you’re listening to us from. My name is Atanasio Crisóstomo Mendoza. I’m 55 years old and I’ve been a truck driver for more than three decades. Today I’m going to tell you the most incredible story of my life. The day God gave me the most beautiful gift that

I could receive it was a Friday in March 2022, around 2 in the afternoon.
I was driving Mikenworth on Federal Highway 15, near Magdalena de Quino, Sonora, when something really strange happened to me. You know, after so many years on the road, you develop a kind of sixth sense for these things, but that was unlike anything I had experienced before. I was carrying the cargo to the

Current, new tires, checked trailer. There was no reason to stop.
My route didn’t even cross that area. I’d usually changed my route at the last minute, without any logic. It was as if an invisible force was pulling my steering wheel toward that specific spot. Suddenly, I felt an inexplicable need. An inner voice, clear as spring water, told me,

“Stop at that garage up ahead.
” It wasn’t my voice, it wasn’t my thought, it was something coming from higher up, from deeper inside. I checked the speedometer, the tires, the rearview mirror. Everything was perfect. Even so, my hand turned the steering wheel on its own. The sign read: “Pacheco and Sons Garage, 24-Hour Service.” It was a simple garage.

The kind you find scattered along Mexican highways.
Nothing special, nothing that caught your eye. But my heart started racing when I parked there in front. I got out of the cab and made up some kind of excuse about checking the rear tires. The owner, a man in his 60s, with the calloused hands of someone who’s been working since he was a kid,

He greeted me with a smile. Good afternoon, truck driver.
How can we help you? That’s when I saw him. A young man was crouching inside an engine, his back to me. When he sat up and turned his face in my direction, I felt as if the world had stopped turning, as if time had gone back 24 years, as if God were there.

whispering in my ear.
Here’s the answer to your prayers. The kid was about 25 years old, tanned like me, with the sturdy hands of someone who knows hard work. But what caught my attention, what made my heart nearly leap out of my chest, was a small, crescent-shaped scar right on his forehead,

identical to the one I looked at every night in the worn photos I’d carried in my wallet for over two decades. Tadeo. The word left my mouth before I could think about it.
The young man looked at me confused, wiping his hands on a grease-stained rag. “Excuse me, sir, have we met?” he asked in a voice that gave me goosebumps. It was serious, mature, but I recognized something there, something that had been stored in my heart since 1998. I tried to compose myself, but the

My hands were shaking.
24 years of searching, 24 years of sleepless nights, 24 years praying on my knees on the cold floor of the trailer, asking God for a sign that would show me where my son was. No, no, sorry, kid, it’s just that you seem like someone very special to me. I swallowed, trying to control the emotion that

It surged up my throat like a giant wave.
“What’s your name, my son?” “Tadeo,” he answered. And it was as if a bolt of lightning had struck my chest. Tadeo Pacheco. I’ve been working here with Donaristo since I was 14. Tadeo Pacheco. He was no longer Tadeo Mendoza Solózano, as it said on the birth certificate I carried in my wallet along with the photo of a

A smiling baby with a small scar on his forehead. The shop owner approached, noticing my nervousness.
Everything’s fine, truck driver. He looks a little pale. I just need to check something on the tire. I stammered, walking toward the back of the truck to try to compose myself, but my mind was in total chaos. It was possible. After so many years, so many cities, so many hopes.

Frustrated, it was possible that God had finally heard my prayers.
I leaned back against the trailer and closed my eyes. Heavenly Father, I murmured softly, if this is truly my Thaddeus, give me the strength to know how to act. I searched for you for so long, I never stopped believing that you would bless me with this moment. When I opened my eyes, Thaddeus was standing beside me with a

worried look on his face. I’m sure you’re okay, sir.
Do you want a glass of water? It was at that moment that something inexplicable happened. Looking into his eyes, I saw something I recognized immediately. It wasn’t just the scar, it wasn’t just the facial features, it was something deeper, more primal. It was my son’s gaze, that same sweet, curious gaze that

tenía cuando era apenas un bebé en mis brazos.
Tadeo, empecé despacio, sintiendo que estaba a punto de cambiar nuestras dos vidas para siempre. ¿Puedo hacerte una pregunta medio rara? se notó claramente intrigado. “¿Sabes algo sobre tus papás verdaderos?” La expresión en su cara cambió por completo. Por un segundo vi una sombra de tristeza

cruzar sus ojos. “¿Por qué quieres saber eso?”, preguntó con la voz un poco más baja.
“¿Era ahora o nunca?” Dios me había traído hasta aquí por algo. 24 años de búsqueda, 24 años de fe inquebrantable. Todo había convergido hacia este momento exacto, en este taller perdido en medio de Sonora, porque dije, sacando la cartera del bolsillo con manos temblorosas, creo que acabo de

encontrar la bendición más grande de mi vida.
Óiganme bien, necesitan entender cómo empezó todo para comprender la magnitud de lo que estaba pasando en ese taller. Déjenme llevarlos al año de 1997, cuando yo tenía apenas 31 años y creía que tenía toda la vida planeada. En ese entonces vivía en Tepic, Nayarit, en una casita humilde pero llena

de cariño. Estaba casado con remedios solózano, una mujer preciosa, de pelo chino y sonrisa que iluminaba cualquier lugar.
Nos conocimos en las fiestas patronales de la iglesia en 1995 y fue amor a primera vista. Ella tenía apenas 23 años. trabajaba como auxiliar de enfermería en el IMS y soñaba con tener una familia grande. Yo ya era tráilero desde hacía algunos años. Había comprado mi primer camión usado con mucho

sacrificio. Era un international viejo y destartalado, pero me daba para comer.
En aquel tiempo, el flete todavía pagaba bien y lograba sacar una lana decente rodando entre Nayarit, Jalisco y Sinaloa. En septiembre de 1997, nuestra vida cambió por completo. Remedios dio a luz a Tadeo. Y les puedo jurar, sin temor a mentir, que nunca sentí una felicidad tan completa como cuando

cargué a ese bebito en brazos por primera vez.
Era perfecto, con ojitos despiertos y una fuerza impresionante para alguien tan chiquito. Me acuerdo como si fuera ayer del accidente que marcó a Tadeo para siempre. tenía apenas 8 meses. Estaba empezando a querer pararse apoyándose en los muebles. Yo había regresado de un viaje corto a Guadalajara

and was playing with him in the living room when it happened. He slipped and hit his forehead on the corner of the coffee table. It was a total mess.
Remedios screamed so much that the neighbors came running. We took him to the hospital and thank God it wasn’t serious, just a small cut that needed three stitches. But that small crescent-shaped scar remained right in the middle of his forehead.
The doctor said that with time it would be almost imperceptible, but it never completely disappeared. It’s going to be our kid’s trademark. I used to joke with Remedios, kissing the little scar every time I said goodnight to Tadeo. I never imagined that years later that little

brand would be the only thing that would allow me to recognize my own son.
In those first months, I was the most doting dad you could imagine. Whenever I was home, between trips, I would spend hours playing with Tadeo, teaching him words, making faces to make him laugh. Remedios always complained that I spoiled him too much. But how

Resist that angel face? I had big plans for the future.
I wanted to buy a new trailer, maybe start a small fleet, give Tadeo an education, who knows, even college. I dreamed of watching him grow, teaching him how to drive, passing on to him everything I’d learned in life. I saved every spare peso, tightening my belt even for the basics.

all thinking about the future of my family.
Tadeo was a bright and affectionate child. At one year old, Cachito was already babbling “dad” and “mama.” He would spend hours watching the trucks passing by on the main street of our neighborhood, as if he already knew what his destination would be. I joked that he had inherited a passion for the roads, that in the

The future would be my workmate.
Remedios was an exemplary mother in those early days. She cared for Tadeo with all the love in the world. She sang him lullabies, made him special meals, and took him for walks in the park in the afternoons. She had requested a shift change at the hospital to work only in the mornings so she could

to spend more time with our son.
But now that I think about it, looking back, there were already signs that things weren’t going so well. The trips were getting longer. Freight competition was increasing, and I had to accept loads that took me farther afield, keeping me away from home for weeks at a time.

Remedios began to complain of loneliness. Atanasio, you spend more time on the road than here with us, she told me, holding Tadeo in her arms, looking out the window. The child barely knows you. When you return, he even misses the first day. Those words hurt my soul, but I tried to

Explain to him that it was all for them, for our future. My love, it’s only for a while.
Soon I’ll get a better truck, pick up jobs closer to home. Everything I do is thinking of you two. In December 1997, I took a photo that I would keep with me forever. Tadeo was sitting on my lap in the cab of the trailer with that toothless grin pointing toward the

buttons on the dashboard.
The scar on his forehead was clearly visible, already well healed, giving him a unique and special appearance. Remedios took the photo with a disposable camera, and when we developed it, I had several copies made to take on the trip and kill the desire to see it,” I explained, sticking one on the dashboard.

truck and putting others in my wallet.
I never imagined that would be one of the last photos I would take with my son as a whole family, that those images would become my only connection to Tadeo for the next 24 years, that I would look at that scar thousands of times, memorizing every detail, every feature of his little face, waiting

The day I could recognize him again, if I had known what was coming, if I had been able to foresee the storm approaching our seemingly perfect family, I would have made different decisions.
I would have spent less time on the road, paid more attention to the signs that Remedios felt abandoned. But life doesn’t give us a second chance to do things right the first time. What I didn’t know is that those were the last moments of peace in my life, that in a few months everything would be over.

would crumble like a house of cards, and I would embark on a 24-year journey to recover what I had lost.
What do you think? Do you think a father should sacrifice time with his family to give them a better future? Leave me your comments. I want to know what you think about this situation. The year 1998 began with renewed hope. Tadeo was turning one, beginning to take his first steps.

staggering around the house, and I had gotten a better contract with a company in Guadalajara that promised more regular freight rates and better pay.
I remember perfectly the day of January 15, 1998, when I left for a trip that was supposed to last only five days. Tadeo was at the gate of the house, holding onto the bars, waving with his chubby little hand as I started the International’s engine. Remedios was at his side, but her smile

She looked forced, distant.
“Take good care of your mom for me, she’ll come out, champ!” I shouted out the window, and Tadeo let out that delicious little laugh that always melted my heart. It was the last time I heard his baby voice. During that trip, something strange happened. Normally, Remedios called me every day at the toll booths wanting to know.

how the road was going, if he was eating well, but that time the days passed without any calls.
When I tried to call the house, no one answered. On the third day I managed to speak with our neighbor, Doña Esperanza, a woman about 70 years old who always looked after Tadeo when Remedios needed to go out. Atanasio, my son, I haven’t seen Remedios or the child for two days. The house is

Always closed, the lights off.
It felt strange, but I thought maybe she had gone to visit family. A chill ran down my spine. Remedios’s family lived in Colima, about two hours away by car, but she always let me know when she was going to visit them. I tried to calm myself, thinking maybe it was a surprise visit.

some family emergency that he hadn’t been able to communicate to me.
When I arrived home on January 20th, I found the door locked and a deafening silence. I used my key and entered shouting, “Remedios, Tadeo, Dad’s here!” But only the echo of my own voice answered me. The house was in disarray, not in the normal way of a family living, but as if

Someone had left in a hurry.
Clothes were scattered in the room, drawers were open, some of Tadeo’s things were missing, mainly little clothes and some favorite toys. That’s when I found the letter. It was on top of our dresser, written in Remedios’ shaky handwriting. To this day, 24 years later, I can

recite every word of that letter by heart.
Atanasio, by the time you read this, Tadeo and I will already be far away. I can’t stand this life of solitude any longer. You love that road more than your family. Tadeo barely knows you. He cries every time you go on a trip. I need to rebuild my life, give him a real home with a dad present. Don’t try to look for us, it’s

It’s better this way. Remedios. My first reaction was total disbelief.
I reread the letter about 10 times, as if the words would magically change. Then came anger, a fury I’d never felt in my life. How could she do this to me? How could she take my son without even talking, trying to find a solution? I ran to Doña Esperanza’s house.

When they left, ma’am. I checked to see if he was with anyone, if they took a bus, a taxi, or a car.
The old lady shook her head in worry. My son, I only know that on Monday night I heard the noise of a car, voices, but I didn’t go in. I thought it was a visitor. On Tuesday morning, when I went to take him some sweet bread I had made for Tadeito, no one was there. I immediately called his family.

remedios en Colima.
Su mamá, doña Soledad, se quedó pasmada con la noticia. Atanasio, ella no ha venido para acá. Hace más de un mes que no sabemos de ella. Pensamos que todo estaba bien, porque tú tampoco llamabas. Fue ahí cuando la desesperación de verdad se apoderó de mí. Si no estaba con la familia, ¿dónde podría

estar? ¿A dónde se había llevado a mi Tadeo? En los días siguientes hice lo que cualquier padre desesperado haría. Levanté una denuncia en el Ministerio Público.
Contraté un detective privado con los pocos ahorros que tenía. Recorrí todas las centrales camioneras de Tepic y ciudades vecinas, enseñando la foto de remedios y Tadeo a empleados, pasajeros, cualquier persona que pudiera haberlos visto. El comandante que me atendió fue directo al grano.

Don Atanasio, desgraciadamente casos así son comunes. La madre tiene derecho de irse con el niño. No se considera secuestro. A menos que aparezcan evidencias de que está poniendo al niño en riesgo. No podemos hacer mucho más que registrar la desaparición. El detective privado, un hombre flaco y

experimentado llamado Arnulfo Quintero, trabajó en el caso por dos meses.
Descubrió que Remedios había sacado todos los ahorros de la cuenta mancomunada, casi 30,000 pesos que juntamos para comprar un carro usado. También descubrió que la habían visto en la central con Tadeo el día 19 de enero, pero nadie sabía para dónde habían salido. Atanasio, Arnulfo me dijo en

nuestra última reunión, le voy a hablar derecho. Su esposa planeó esta huida.
Borró muy bien sus huellas. puede estar en cualquier parte del país. Seguiré intentando, pero debe prepararse para la posibilidad de que esto puede tardar mucho tiempo. Mucho tiempo. Esa frase resonaba en mi cabeza mientras yo trataba de mantener la cordura y seguir chambeando. Porque la vida no se

detiene por nuestras tragedias personales.
Yo tenía un tráiler que pagar, cuentas que saldar y ahora encima los gastos de la búsqueda de Tadeo. Pero lo peor no eran los gastos ni las noches sin dormir. Lo peor era mirar esa foto en el tablero del camión, tadeo en mis piernas, sonriendo con esa cicatriz chiquita en la frente, y preguntarme

si tenía hambre, si tenía frío, si preguntaba dónde estaba su papá, acaso remedios le contaba cuentos para dormir.
Se acordaba de que le gustaban los frijolitos refritos con queso y odiaba las zanahorias. Tadeo me extrañaba o ya me había olvidado completamente. Esas preguntas me torturaban día y noche, convirtiendo cada kilómetro recorrido en una oración desesperada para poder encontrarlos. Los dos años

The following were the darkest of my existence. Between 1998 and 2000, I became a ghostly version of the man I was before.
Every city I visited for work also became an opportunity for research. Every gas station, every roadside diner, every school or daycare I saw became a place of investigation. I developed an obsessive routine that I followed religiously. I would arrive in a new city,

I would unload the merchandise and immediately begin my pilgrimage.
Always with that photo in my hand, Tadeo on my legs with that characteristic scar clearly visible on his forehead. I would show it to dispatchers, waitresses, pharmacists, teachers, anyone I met. Please, have you seen this boy? His name is Tadeo. He has a scar.

A small mark on the forehead. He may be with a curly-haired woman for about 25 years. Always the same question, always the same hope flickering in his chest.
In March 1999, I received a call that nearly stopped my heart. It was from a commander in Mexicali on the border with the United States. Don Atanasio, we have information about a woman and a child matching the description you provided. You can come here.

I left everything unfinished, a delivery in Mazatlán, and drove 12 hours straight to Mexicali. My head was boiling with anticipation. Could I finally have found them? I muttered, looking at the photo stuck on the dashboard. I’m almost there, Tadeo. Dad never stopped looking for you. Arriving at the police station, the officer called me.

He led me to a room where there was a woman with curly hair and a boy about 2 years old.
For a split second, my heart leaped, but when the woman turned around, I saw that it wasn’t Remedios. And when I looked at the boy, although he was similar in age to Tadeo, there was no scar on his forehead and his features were completely different. Excuse me for the ride in Valde, Don Atanasio. The commander said

seeing my disappointment.
But we couldn’t pass up the opportunity. The description did match. I returned home devastated, but something had changed in me after that false hope. The disappointment was so profound that I understood I needed to be more systematic, more intelligent in my search. That’s when I took a

A decision that would completely change my life for the next few years.
I sold my house in Tepic, that little house full of memories where Tadeo took his first steps, where I heard him playing in the yard. With the money from the sale, I bought a better trailer and decided that my new home would be the highway. If Remedios and Tadeo were anywhere in Mexico, I would find them.

traveling across the entire country.
I started accepting freight for the most diverse destinations, always prioritizing routes that would take me to regions I hadn’t yet searched: north, center, south. My map of Mexico began filling up with red marks, pointing out each city where I had shown Tadeo’s photo. I bet it wasn’t even

1% of you watching this video are going to like it. I’m almost mistaken.
Like it right now if this story is really getting to you. See if you can shut me up. In August 1999, a piece of information led me to Irapuato. A nurse from the general hospital had called saying she remembered treating a woman with the characteristics of Remedios.

Accompanied by a small child. She seemed nervous.
She said she was going through financial difficulties. The child had a mark on his forehead, but I can’t confirm if it was a scar or a recent blow. I spent a whole week in Irapuato visiting all the neighborhoods, all the daycare centers, all the health centers. I slept in the parked truck.

in different plazas every night, always hoping for better luck the next day, but again, nothing.
The winter of 1999 was particularly… I was making a delivery in Ciudad Obregón when nostalgia hit full force. It was Tadeo’s second birthday. September 15th. I stopped the trailer at a gas station on Mexico X and cried like a kid. There I was, alone on the highway,

while my son was having a birthday somewhere unknown, perhaps no longer remembering who I was. That night I spoke to my boss in Tepiic.
Mom, I can’t take it anymore. I’ve been searching for almost two years and I haven’t found a trace of them. Sometimes I think I’ve died and I’m in hell, condemned to search for my son for all eternity. Atanasio, my son, told me with that sweet voice that always calmed me. You can’t give up. Tadeo needs his

Dad.
Wherever he is, he needs to know that you never stopped looking for him. Stay strong, God will give you a sign at the right time. Those words from my boss gave me the strength to continue. At the beginning of 2000, I received a lead that would change everything. Detective Arnulfo called me with

Information I had obtained through contacts at the SAT.
Atanasio discovered transactions in the prescription drug account. He made withdrawals from Banamex branches in Zamora and then in Morelia, both in Michoacán. The withdrawals were in January and March of 2000. This means she’s still alive and probably in the region. My heart raced. Michoacán was a large state,

pero al menos ahora tenía una dirección concreta.
Cancelé todos los fletes que tenía agendados y salí de volada para Morelia. Llegando allá, establecí una base de operaciones en un hotel barato cerca del centro. Durante el día visitaba sucursales bancarias enseñando la foto. Preguntaba en farmacias, tiendas, escuelas. En la noche recorrí barrios

de la periferia, donde normalmente la gente con pocos recursos se establece.
Fue en una de esas búsquedas nocturnas cuando descubrí algo que me heló la sangre. En una plática casual con un guardia de seguridad, él mencionó, “Ah, sí, he visto muchas mujeres jóvenes con niños chiquitos pidiendo ayuda por aquí. Algunas andan metidas en el cristal, ¿sabe? Pierden la custodia de

los chamacos con el dif dif. Esa posibilidad nunca había cruzado por mi mente y si remedio se había metido en drogas y si le habían quitado atadeo las autoridades. Al día siguiente fui directo al DIFE de Morelia.
La trabajadora social que me atendió fue muy amable, pero las noticias que recibí me destrozaron completamente. Don Atanasio, efectivamente tuvimos un caso en marzo del 2000. Un niño de aproximadamente 3 años fue retirado de la custodia de una mujer adicta a las metanfetaminas.

La situación era de extremo riesgo para el menor. Falta de alimentación adecuada, ambiente insalubre, exposición a situaciones de peligro. Mi mundo se derrumbó en ese momento. ¿Y dónde está ese niño ahora? Pregunté con la voz quebrada. fue canalizado a un albergue temporal, pero después fue

adoptado por una familia.
Por cuestiones legales, no puedo proporcionar detalles específicos sin autorización judicial. Adoptado. Mi Tadeo había sido adoptado por extraños porque yo no pude encontrarlo a tiempo. Mientras yo rodaba México entero buscándolo, él estaba creciendo en otra familia, tal vez hasta llamándole papá a

otro hombre. Salí de esa oficina completamente destrozado.
24 meses de búsqueda intensa, todos mis ahorros gastados, mi salud mental destruida y había llegado demasiado tarde. Tadeo tenía una nueva familia y yo seguía siendo solo un padre fantasma cargando una foto desgastada en el tablero del camión. Esa fue la noche más oscura de mi vida. Sentado en la

cabina del tráiler, mirando las estrellas, sentí que Dios me había abandonado completamente.
Después del descubrimiento devastador en el DIF de Morelia, entré en una espiral de depresión que casi me cuesta la vida. Los primeros meses del 2001 fueron un borrón de dolor, alcohol y desesperación. Dejé de comer bien, dejé de cuidar mi apariencia y lo peor, casi dejé de manejar.

Mi camión quedó estacionado por semanas en un corralón en Uruapan, mientras yo me hundía en una borrachera que parecía no tener fin. Despertaba todos los días con la misma pregunta martillando en la cabeza. ¿Cómo un padre puede fallar tanto? Era como si hubiera fallado en el único trabajo realmente

importante de mi vida, proteger a mi hijo.
Pero fue justamente en el fondo del pozo donde algo empezó a cambiar dentro de mí. Una mañana de abril desperté en el asiento del conductor del tráiler con una cruda terrible y una certeza absoluta. Tadeo estaba vivo en algún lugar y aunque tuviera otra familia ahora, yo seguía siendo su padre

biológico. Eso nadie lo podía cambiar.
Si me muero aquí en esta borrachera, me dije a mí mismo mirando la foto descolorida en el tablero. Tadeo nunca va a saber que tuvo un papá que lo amó incondicionalmente, que nunca se rindió. Fue en ese momento cuando tomé la decisión más importante de los últimos años, dejar de tomar y recomenzar

la búsqueda, pero esta vez con un enfoque completamente diferente.
En vez de desesperación, decidí abrazar la fe. Empecé a platicar con Dios todos los días, no pidiendo milagros instantáneos, sino pidiendo fuerza para continuar y sabiduría para saber dónde buscar. Señor, decía cada noche antes de dormir. Sé que Tadeo está bajo tu cuidado. Si es tu voluntad que lo

encuentre, muéstrame el camino.
Si no, dame paz para aceptarlo. Ese cambio de mentalidad transformó completamente mi travesía. En vez de buscar desesperadamente en cada ciudad, empecé a seguir una intuición más profunda. Comencé a aceptar fletes que me llevaban a lugares específicos, siempre con la sensación de que estaba siendo

guiado por algo más grande que yo.
Durante todos esos años desarrollé una relación muy especial con otros tráileros que conocía en las carreteras. Les conté mi historia a cientos de ellos y muchos se volvieron mis ojos y oídos regados por todo México. Atanasio, me dijo una vez don Refugio un tráiler o veterano de León. Tu historia

me tocó el corazón.
Cada vez que paro en una gasolinera, en un taller, me fijo en los morros que tengan esa cicatriz en la frente que describes. Esa red informal de camioneros se volvió mi mayor fuerza en la búsqueda de Tadeo. Éramos como una familia regada por las carreteras mexicanas, todos unidos por el mismo

propósito, reunir a un padre con su hijo perdido. En 2005, 7 años después del desaparecimiento, algo interesante empezó a pasar. Comencé a tener sueños muy vívidos con Tadeo.
En los sueños ya no era el bebé de la foto, sino un chamaco grande, siempre trabajando con las manos, componiendo motores, arreglando cosas descompuestas. Despertaba de esos sueños con una sensación extraña, como si fueran mensajes divinos mostrándome cómo mi hijo estaba creciendo.

A lo mejor heredó mi facilidad con la mecánica, pensaba, recordando como desde chico me encantaba desarmar y armar aparatos electrónicos, componer equipos descompuestos. Esa intuición me llevó a empezar a frecuentar talleres mecánicos en cada ciudad que visitaba, platicando con los dueños,

asking if they knew any young apprentices with a scar on their forehead.
The years passed slowly, but my faith only grew. In 2010, when Tadeo turned 13, although I could only imagine how he was doing, I began attending a small evangelical church in Tepic, whenever I passed by. Pastor Eliseo became an important spiritual advisor in my life. Brother

Atanasio told me, “Your perseverance is a testimony to God’s faithfulness. He has a plan for your life and for Tadeo’s life.
Keep praying, keep seeking, but place the outcome in the Lord’s hands.” Those words gave me the strength to continue. Every Monday morning, wherever I was, I would stop the truck and say a special prayer. Heavenly Father, bless my son Tadeo wherever he is.

Protect him, guide his steps, and if it is your will, allow our paths to cross again. Around 2015, 17 years after the separation, I began to notice subtle changes in my approach to the situation. The pain was still there, but I had developed supernatural patience.

An unshakeable certainty that everything would happen in God’s perfect timing.
It was during that time that I met Amparo, a retired social worker who volunteered at shelters in Guadalajara. I told her my story during a lunch break, and she gave me some advice that changed my perspective. Atanasio, have you considered that maybe Tadeo is looking for you too?

When adopted children reach adulthood, many develop curiosity about their origins.
That possibility had never crossed my mind. What if Tadeo, now an adult, were trying to discover who his biological father was, and if he too carried a void in his heart, an unanswered question about his true roots? From that moment on, in addition to continuing my search

Active, I began to leave traces so Tadeo could find me. I registered my information on missing persons search sites.
I left information in civil registries in several cities. I created social media profiles with my story. If my son is looking for me, I thought, I need to make it easy for him to find me. It was a two-way street I hadn’t considered before. The last few years before the reunion were

marked by a growing serenity.
I kept searching, I kept praying, but there was an inner peace that told me everything was falling into place at the right time. It was as if I was being spiritually prepared for something great that was about to come. What do you think? I was wrong to sell everything and dedicate my life to searching for

My son.
What would you have done in my place? I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments. In 2020, during the pandemic, when the roads were emptier and I had more time to reflect, I intensified my prayers. Lord, I said, every night, 22 years have passed. If it’s your will that

Find Thaddeus, let it happen while I still have the strength to be the Father he deserves.
It was as if my heart knew the big moment was approaching. In the weeks before March 2022, I had a strange feeling, a holy restlessness that made me change routes without logical explanation, accepting jobs for regions I didn’t normally frequent.

Unbeknownst to me, I was being guided by the invisible hands of divine providence to a lost workshop on Federal Highway 15, where my son, now a grown man, was working, unaware that his father had never stopped looking for him, not even for a single day, in more than two decades. The year 2015 brought

Revelations that broke my heart, but also brought me a strange sense of relief.
Through contacts I’d made over the years—social workers, police officers, other drug dealers—I finally managed to track down what had happened to Remedios after our separation. The information came to me through a nurse named Patricia, who worked at a clinic.

Rehab in Zamora. He had heard my story from a truck driver friend and decided to seek me out.
Don Atanasio called me and told me that he would change my understanding of everything that had happened. I think I know the mother of his son. Patricia told me that Remedios had been in the clinic for over 10 years, since 2003. Her crystal meth addiction had completely consumed her.

personality, turning her into an unrecognizable person.
She arrived here in a deplorable state, the nurse delicately explained, malnourished with various health problems and completely mentally lost. In the first few years, she constantly screamed for a boy named Tadeo. My heart sank when I heard that.

Even in the depths of addiction, Remedios still thought about our son. “And now, how is he?” I asked, already dreading the answer. Unfortunately, Don Atanasio no longer has the cognitive conditions to live alone. Prolonged drug use caused irreversible brain damage. He has

moments of lucidity, but most of the time she doesn’t even recognize herself. It’s a very sad situation.
That same week I traveled to Zamora to see her. Nothing could have prepared me for that encounter. The woman sitting in the wheelchair staring into space bore little resemblance to the vibrant Remedios woman I had known. Her hair, once curly and shiny, was gray and lifeless.

Su cara, marcada por el sufrimiento y las drogas parecía haber envejecido 30 años. Remedios. La llamé suavemente acercándome. Ella levantó los ojos, pero no había reconocimiento ahí, solo una mirada perdida, como si estuviera viendo a través de mí. Soy yo, Atanasio. ¿Te acuerdas de Tadeo? Por unos

segundos algo pareció prenderse en sus ojos.
Tadeo murmuró, “Mi bebé, ¿dónde está mi bebé?” Después, como una flama que se apaga rápido, volvió al estado de ausencia. La psicóloga de la clínica, doctora Marina, me explicó la situación completa. Por los reportes que tenemos, Remedios tocó fondo alrededor del 2000. Estaba viviendo en las calles

de Morelia con el niño, en condiciones infrahumanas.
Fue cuando el DIF intervino y retiró a Tadeo de su custodia. ¿Y a dónde fue a parar?, pregunté sabiendo que esa era la información más importante. Inicialmente fue a un albergue en Morelia. Pero una familia de Magdalena de Quino mostró interés en adoptarlo. Eran personas trabajadoras, dueños de un

pequeño taller mecánico.
El proceso se concluyó en 2003, cuando el niño tenía cerca de 6 años. Mi corazón brincó. Un taller mecánico era exactamente como yo había soñado tantas veces. Tadeo creciendo entre herramientas y motores, desarrollando habilidades manuales. ¿Tienen el nombre de esa familia? Por cuestiones legales

no puedo proporcionar información específica, pero puedo decir que fueron personas ejemplares. Seguimos el caso por algunos años a través de los reportes sociales y el niño se desarrolló muy bien.
Fue criado con amor y cariño. Salí de esa clínica con sentimientos encontrados. Por un lado, estaba devastado al ver a remedios en ese estado. La mujer que había amado madre de mi hijo estaba prácticamente muerta en vida. Por otro lado, sentía un alivio inmenso al saber que Tadeo había sido salvado

de esa situación terrible y criado por personas buenas.
Durante el viaje de regreso paré en una iglesia en Zamora e hice una oración de gratitud. Señor, no entiendo tus caminos, pero veo tu misericordia en la vida de Tadeo. Gracias por ponerlo en manos seguras cuando yo no pude protegerlo. En los años siguientes volví varias veces a visitar a Remedios.

No porque esperara alguna recuperación, los doctores fueron claros sobre la irreversibilidad de su estado, sino porque sentía que era mi deber como cristiano. Llevaba flores, platicaba con ella aunque no respondiera. Le contaba sobre mi vida y sobre cómo seguía buscando a Tadeo. En una de esas

During one of my visits, something extraordinary happened. I was telling Remedios about a dream I had, in which I saw Tadeo working in a workshop, when she suddenly grabbed my hand with surprising strength.
“Workshop,” she said clearly, looking me straight in the eyes. “Federal Highway, it’s on the road.” After that, she returned to a state of absence, but those words remained engraved in my memory. Nurse Patricia, who had witnessed the scene, was impressed. In 12 years of working

Here, I’d never seen her in such a clear moment of lucidity.
It’s as if something divine had spoken through her. Those words gave me a new direction in my search, both on the road and in the workshop. Tadeo was working in a roadside workshop. I began to focus my search specifically on workshops located on major roads, especially

Those that cross between Michoacán and Sonora.
From 2016 to 2021, I intensified my visits to roadside repair shops. Whenever I made a delivery in the northwest region, I spent extra time stopping at each establishment, chatting with the owners, and observing the workers. I always carried a photo of baby Tadeo with me.

and a computer image I had done, calculating what he might look like in his 20s. “
I’m looking for my son,” he explained to each shop owner. He was adopted as a child, must be about 25 now, and I think he works in a shop. He has a small scar on his forehead right here in the middle. Some shop owners were touched by my story and promised to keep an eye out.

Others gave me information about employees who partially fit the description, but every time I checked, it wasn’t Tadeo.
It was also during this period that I began to have more frequent and detailed dreams. I clearly saw Tadeo as an adult man, always wearing grease-stained overalls, working under trailers, smiling as he fixed engines. In those dreams, the scar on his forehead was always there.

clearly visible, like a sign that would allow me to recognize him instantly.
Pastor Eliseo from the church I attended always encouraged me to continue. Brother Atanasio, those dreams are messages from God. He is preparing your heart for the reunion and showing that Tadeo grew well, that he became a hardworking and honest man. In December 2021, I made a

special promise.
I knelt at the altar of the church and prayed, Lord, if it is your will that I find Thaddeus in 2022, I promise to dedicate the rest of my life to bear witness to your faithfulness. I promise to tell the whole world how you never abandon a father searching for his son. Three months later, in March 2022, that

This promise would be fulfilled in a way that would exceed all my expectations.
The God who had cared for Tadeo all those years, who had placed him in a loving family to grow up away from drugs and destruction, was about to orchestrate the most miraculous encounter of my life. Remedios had lost the battle against drugs, but Tadeo had been

saved, and I was about to discover that my son had grown up exactly as I had always dreamed.
A hardworking, honest man, with the calloused hands of someone who knows the value of hard work in a roadside shop, waiting for the day his biological father would stop by to change a tire that didn’t even need changing. While I traveled the roads of Mexico looking for

Tadeo, my son, was growing up on a small property on the outskirts of Magdalena de Quino, under the care of two people who would become the true parents of his heart, Evaristo Pacheco Domínguez and his wife Clemencia Aguirre. Don Evaristo was a simple man of 45 years old when

adopted Tadeo in 2003. He had worked all his life as a mechanic, first as an employee in other people’s workshops, then setting up his own business on a small property he bought on the edge of Federal X. He was a man of integrity, a practicing evangelical, who always dreamed of having children, but

faced fertility problems along with Clemencia.
Clemencia, on the other hand, was a woman with a heart of gold. She worked as a seamstress at home, making clothes to order for neighbors, but her true talent was caring for people. When they learned about Tadeo’s existence at the shelter, through a social worker from the church who

They immediately felt that this traumatized child was the answer to their prayers.
Tadeo arrived at their home in May 2003, a boy of almost 6 years old, too skinny for his age, with that characteristic scar on his forehead and eyes that had seen things no child should ever see. He hardly spoke at all for the first few months, just staring around with a mixture of fear.

and curiosity. I had terrible nightmares.
Clemencia would tell me about them years later, when we finally met. I would wake up screaming in the middle of the night, calling for someone who would say, “Dad, it broke my heart to see such a small child carrying so much pain.” Don Evaristo, with his infinite patience, like someone who works with machines

broken, decided that the best way to gain the kid’s trust was through work.
He began by taking Tadeo to the workshop, teaching him simple things like organizing tools, cleaning parts, and observing how engines worked. From the first day, Don Evaristo used to say, I realized the kid had a gift for mechanics. It was as if he had been born understanding

how things work. You put a tool in his hand and it seemed like he already knew how to use it.
Tadeo flourished in that environment of love and honest work. Little by little, he began to open up, to smile, to call Don Evaristo “Dad” and Clemencia “Mom.” The family had found wholeness, and the boy had found the stability he never had in his early years.

By the time Tadeo turned 10 in 2007, he was already Don Evaristo’s right-hand man in the workshop. He knew how to change tires, make minor electrical repairs, and diagnose simple engine problems. The truck drivers who stopped there were impressed by the kid’s skill. That kid’s going to

“Go far,” said Don Hermenegildo, a veteran truck driver who always stopped by Don Evaristo’s workshop. “I’ve never seen a child with so much talent for mechanics.
It’s as if it’s in his blood.” Those words were more prophetic than Don Hermenegildo could have imagined. Tadeo had inherited from me not only my physical appearance, but also my passion for engines, my ability to understand how machines work. It was my DNA manifesting itself through my eyes.

Through the years of separation.
In 2011, when Tadeo turned 14, he made a decision that surprised Don Evaristo and Clemencia. “Dad, Mom,” he told them one Sunday morning after church, “I want to officially start working in the workshop. I don’t want to just play mechanic anymore; I want to really learn.”

“Don Evaristo was worried at first. “Son, you need to study. Finish school. I don’t want you to think that being a mechanic is not enough; it’s an honest job, but you can dream bigger.” But Tadeo was firm in his decision. “Dad, I love working with my hands. I love fixing broken things.”

Getting engines running again. This isn’t a job for me, it’s a calling.
And so, at age 14, Tadeo officially began his career as a mechanic. He got up early, helped in the workshop during the day, and studied at night at Magdalena High School. He was a disciplined, respectful young man who treated all customers politely and competently. The years

They passed quickly.
Tadeo grew strong and healthy, developing muscles defined by hard work, calloused hands that knew how to breathe life into dead engines. By 18, he was already known throughout the region as one of the best young mechanics in the state. “That boy has blessed hands,” Doña said.

Conchita, a longtime customer of the workshop. Never had someone so young possessed so much knowledge. It was as if God had given him a special gift.
But Tadeo carried within him a restlessness that he could never fully explain. Sometimes, when he worked under a large trailer, he felt a strange familiarity, as if it were part of something bigger in his life. He had recurring dreams of a tall man driving a blue truck.

Always trying to reach him, but never quite reaching him.
Mom asked Clemencia one night when she was about 20. Do you think my real parents are still alive? Do they think about me sometimes? Clemencia, who was always transparent about the adoption, hugged her son lovingly. Son, we don’t know what happened to your biological parents.

But if they’re alive, I’m sure they think about you every day.
Any dad or mom would. Tadeo never showed any interest in actively searching for his origins, but there was always that latent curiosity, especially when he was serving trailers in the workshop. He would observe their faces, unconsciously searching for some similarity, some connection he couldn’t explain.

By 2020, when he turned 23, Tadeo was practically an informal partner with Don Evaristo in the workshop.
He had become a responsible, hardworking man, loved by the entire community. He attended church faithfully, helped neighbors in need, and had become an example for other young people in the region. Tadeo is our greatest blessing. Don Evaristo used to tell his friends, “God gave us a son.”

Better than any we could have conceived. He transformed our house into a true home.
During the pandemic, when many workshops had to close, Tadeo suggested a strategic expansion. Dad, what if we put a support area for the trailers up front with a tire repair shop, minor repairs, a place for them to rest? The idea was brilliant.

The workshop prospered even in difficult times, and Tadeo became a familiar figure among the truckers who traveled along Federal Highway 15. Always polite, always willing to help, always with that genuine smile that won everyone’s sympathy. At the beginning of 2022, Tadeo was 25.

years old. A grown, strong man with a well-trimmed beard and that scar on his forehead that had become his trademark.
The clients were already joking. It’s easy to recognize Tadeo’s work. Just look for the boy with the little mark on his forehead. He didn’t know it, but he was about to serve the most important client of his life. His biological father, who had searched for him for 24 years, was guided by the hands of the

Divine providence, he’d headed straight for that garage, carrying with him a worn photo of a baby with the same scar Tadeo saw in the mirror every day. The traumatized boy who’d arrived there at age 6 had grown into a
blessed man, lovingly raised by people God had placed in his path to save him from a tragic fate. And now, finally, the time was coming to discover where that natural knack for mechanics, those strange dreams about trucks, and that constant feeling that his

History had a lost chapter waiting to be discovered.
The year 2022 started differently for me. There was a holy restlessness in my spirit, a constant feeling that something great was about to happen. It was as if after so many years of praying and seeking, heaven itself was moving to answer my pleas. January and February

They passed in a strange routine.
I found myself changing routes for no apparent reason, accepting freight that normally wouldn’t interest me for logistical or economic reasons. It was as if an invisible force was redirecting my steps, preparing the ground for something I didn’t yet understand. During those weeks

I intensified my prayers in a way I had never done before.
Every morning, around 4:00 a.m., I woke up with an irresistible need to talk to God. I parked the trailer in safe places and spent hours kneeling in the cab, interceding for Tadeo, asking for divine direction for my life. Lord, I cried out with tears in my eyes.

Years have passed. My hair is gray.
My strength is no longer the same as when I began this journey. If it is Your will that I find my son, allow it to happen while I still have the breath to be the father he deserves. There was also a subtle change in the way I viewed my mission. During all those years.

My search had been driven primarily by desperation, by the urgent need to fill the void left by Tadeo’s absence. But now a supernatural peace began to take hold of my heart. In February, during a delivery in Hermosillo, I visited the Cathedral of the Assumption. I am not

Catholic, but I have always respected all forms of sincere faith.
There, in front of that image that represents hope for millions of Mexicans, I said a prayer that completely changed my perspective. “Virgin of Guadalupe,” I murmured humbly. “My son’s mother lost herself in drugs and can no longer care for him. If you are truly the mother of all

Mexicans, intercede for me. Allow me to find Tadeo, not only to ease my pain, but so he knows he always had a father who loved him. I left that cathedral with an inexplicable certainty.
The meeting would happen soon. It was no longer a desperate hope, but the serene conviction of one who had placed the situation completely in God’s hands. In the first days of March, I began to have extremely vivid and detailed dreams.

I saw Tadeo clearly as a grown man, exactly as I imagined him to be. Tall like me, broad shoulders, strong hands, working on engines, always with that small but visible scar on his forehead. In my dreams, he was always in a roadside shop serving truck drivers with

Education and competence. What caught my attention most in those dreams was a specific detail: a blue sign with white letters that read Taller Pacheco e Hijos, 24-hour service.
I always woke up with that image etched in my memory, but I didn’t know where that workshop was or who Pacheco was. On March 10, 2022, something happened that definitively confirmed that God was preparing our reunion. I was making a delivery in Culiacán when my cell phone

It rang. It was Pastor Eliseo from the church in Tepic. Brother Atanasio. His voice was excited. I had a dream about you last night.
I dreamed that you were driving along a highway in Sonora and you stopped at a garage to fix something on your truck. There you met a young mechanic who was your son. The boy had a mark on his forehead just like the pictures you always show me. My heart raced. Pastor Eliseo had never

I’ve had prophetic dreams before. He was always a very down-to-earth, rational person.
Pastor, do you remember any other details? Yes, Atanasio. The garage was on a busy road. It had a blue sign and the owner was an older, dark-skinned, very kind man. In the dream, when you recognized your son, you both cried a lot and there was a feeling that God was present in you.

That moment. I hung up the phone with goosebumps.
It was practically identical to the dreams I’d been having. Two people in different cities dreaming the same thing. For me, that was divine confirmation that the moment had arrived. From that day on, I completely changed my work strategy. I canceled all the freight scheduled for the

south and center and began to focus exclusively on the Sonora region.
It was as if an inner voice was guiding me. It’s here, it’s in this region where you’ll find it. During the second week of March, something extraordinary happened with my work route. I received a freight proposal from Hermosillo to Mexicali via Federal Highway 15. It was a load of materials from

construction, nothing very lucrative, but I accepted immediately.
There was something about that road that called me insistently. The day before the trip. I spent the night in prayer. Heavenly Father, I cried out with all the sincerity of my heart. If this is the trip on which I will find Thaddeus, prepare my heart for that moment. Give me wisdom to know how to approach the

situation, how to reveal who I am without scaring him.
That morning I had the clearest dream of all. I saw myself standing in front of the garage with the blue sign, talking to Tadeo. In the dream, when I showed him the old photos, he got emotional and said, “I always knew my dad was looking for me. I woke up with tears in my eyes and absolute certainty.

That would be the day.” On the morning of March 15, 2022, I left Hermosillo for Mexicali. The sun was shining brightly, traffic was flowing smoothly, and I felt an inexplicable joy in my chest. I sang praises throughout the journey, giving thanks in advance for the blessing that was about to arrive.

Receiving point.
Around noon, as I was passing through the Magdalena de Quino region, I began to feel a growing need to stop somewhere. It wasn’t hunger, it wasn’t tiredness, it wasn’t a physiological need; it was something much deeper, a force that seemed to pull my steering wheel off the road.

Main. This is the moment, I thought to myself.
After 24 years of searching, it was time for God to answer my prayers. I saw a sign up ahead that said Pacheco and Sons Workshop, 24-hour service, exactly like my dreams. Exactly as Pastor Eliseo had described. My heart started beating so fast I thought it would burst.

I was going to burst out of my chest. I parked the truck and got out, trembling.
It was as if my whole life had converged toward that moment. 24 years of searching, thousands of kilometers traveled, hundreds of garages visited, and finally I was standing in front of the place where my son worked. “God,” I murmured softly before walking toward the garage. “Thank you for never having

surrendered to me. Thank you for taking care of Tadeo all these years. Thank you for this miracle that is happening.
It was the most important moment of my life, and I knew nothing would be the same after that afternoon. The Father I had searched for tirelessly was about to find the son who had been raised with love by people God had placed in his path. It was a miracle 24 years in the making, finally.

reaching its divine climax.
I walked slowly toward the workshop entrance, each step echoing like the beat of my racing heart. The distinctive smell of lubricating oil and grease enveloped me, bringing back memories of my own youth when I worked as an engine builder before becoming a truck driver.

The workshop was exactly as he had seen it in his dreams, a spacious shed with a cement floor stained by years of work, tools organized on the tables, tires stacked in the corners, and the comforting sound of impact guns and compressors working. Don Evaristo

He approached with a welcoming smile, wiping his hands on a dirty rag.
He was a man of medium height, with gray hair, with the confident appearance of someone who has spent his entire life working honestly. “Good afternoon, truck driver. How may we help you?” “Good afternoon, Don Evaristo,” I replied, trying to control the trembling in my voice. “I feel that one of the

The rear tires are a bit odd. Could you keep an eye on me?” He nodded immediately.
“Sure, Tadeo!” he shouted toward the back of the shop. “Come here and help this gentleman with the trailer tires.” Tadeo, the name I had repeated a million times in prayer, the name that had been engraved in my heart for 24 years, echoed through the shed like a heavenly chant.

That’s when he appeared. He came out from under a truck where he was working. He slowly stood up. When he turned his face toward me, I felt like a bolt of lightning had struck my chest. It was him. It was my Tadeo, tall as I had imagined, about 80 cm. Broad shoulders.

developed by physical labor, dark hair that was a bit disheveled, and an unshaven beard that gave him a manly and mature appearance.
But what gave me absolute certainty was that small, crescent-shaped scar right in the middle of his forehead, exactly like the photo I’d been carrying around for over two decades. “At your service, sir,” he said, approaching with that polite manner that people from the north cultivate. His voice was

Serious, mature, but I managed to recognize something familiar in her, a distant echo of that baby who babbled “Daddy” in my arms.
For a few seconds I remained completely silent, just watching him. It was surreal. I was standing in front of my son, the kid I had searched for in every corner of Mexico, now transformed into a grown man, hardworking, responsible. 24 years of growth that I had missed were materialized in that

young man in front of me.
“Are you okay, sir?” Tadeo asked, noticing my agitation. “You look kind of pale.” “I’m fine.” “Yes.” I stammered, trying to compose myself. “It’s just that you seem like someone very special to me.” Tadeo smiled. That genuine smile that completely lit up his face. “Ah, that happens. They say that everyone

We have a double out there, don’t we? We walked together to the back of my truck.
He began examining the tires with professional competence, kneeling down, checking the pressure, looking for signs of wear. I watched his every movement, his every gesture, seeking to recognize ways that might be my genetic inheritance. “Your tires are in excellent condition,” he said, standing up and

Wiping his hands. “I didn’t see any problem. Maybe it was his impression or some unevenness in the pavement that made him feel different when driving.
It was my cue. I couldn’t put off the moment of truth any longer. Tadeo, I started slowly. Can I ask you a personal question?” He looked at me curiously. “Sure,” I asked. “You were adopted as a child.” The expression on his face changed immediately. A trace of surprise passed through his eyes, followed by caution.

Natural.
Why do you want to know that? I pulled my wallet out of my pocket with trembling hands. Because for 24 years I’ve been searching for a boy named Tadeo Mendoza Solózano, who disappeared when he was just over a year old. A boy who had a small scar on his forehead, exactly like yours.

Tadeo froze completely, as if struck by lightning. His eyes fixed on the wallet I was holding. Then they returned to my face, then to the scar I was pointing at on my own forehead, in the same place where his had his. “This, this can’t be true,” he muttered,

His voice was half-hoarse.
I opened my wallet and carefully took out the oldest photo, the one I’d taken in December 1997. The image was yellowed with age, but still perfectly sharp. A smiling baby on my lap inside the cab of a trailer with a small crescent-shaped scar.

right in the middle of my forehead. Tadeo grabbed the photo with trembling hands and examined it in detail.
I saw when he recognized his own scar in the image, I saw the exact moment when reality began to make sense to him. This photo he started, but his voice failed him. It was taken in December 1997. I completed it. You were a few months old. Your mother Remedios took that photo inside my truck. I always

liked to play with the buttons on the board. Tadeo raised his eyes to me, and at that moment I saw tears forming there.
You guys, you’re my dad. I’m your dad, Tadeo. I always was. I never stopped looking for you, not a single day in 24 years. What happened next was one of the most exciting moments of my life. Tadeo let out a “I’m” and threw himself into my arms, holding me with desperate strength.

I felt my son’s body, now a grown man, strong and hardworking, trembling against my chest. I always knew. He cried in my ear. I always felt like someone was looking for me. I always had dreams about a man driving a truck trying to reach me. I also broke down in tears.

Hugging my son with all the strength I had. 24 years of pain, searching, sleepless nights, everything dissolved in that hug.
“My son,” I murmured, “My beloved son, Dad never gave up.” Don Evaristo, who had witnessed the entire scene, approached with tears in his eyes. “Holy God,” he said, moved. “It’s a miracle. It’s a true miracle.” Tadeo pulled back a little to look me in the eyes. “Dad,” he said, and that word

It sounded like heavenly music in my ears.
All these years, when I served trailers here at the workshop, I always stared at the faces, looking for something I couldn’t explain. Now I understood what it was. I showed him the other photos I carried in my wallet. Tadeo, a baby in Remedios’s arms. Tadeo taking his first steps in the

The house’s patio. Tadeo playing with his first toy cars.
Each image brought fresh tears to his eyes. “And my mom?” he asked, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “What happened to her?” I took a deep breath. It was a question I knew was coming, and I had an honest but loving answer ready. “Your mom. She lost herself in drugs.” Tadeo.

She’s been in a clinic for many years, unable to live alone, but she loved you very much. In her last lucid moments, she still talked about you. Tadeo nodded, processing the information with maturity. And you sought me out all this time. Every day of my life, I responded with conviction.

I traveled across this entire country. I visited hundreds of cities, thousands of workshops. I showed your photo to anyone who would hear my story.
I prayed so much that I think I exhausted God’s patience. I joked, bringing a smile to his face. He didn’t exhaust it. Tadeo said, wiping away the last vestiges of tears. On the contrary, God brought him here today. I felt all morning that something special was going to happen. I woke up different, with an expectation that I hadn’t known.

He knew how to explain. We stayed there talking for more than two hours.
Tadeo told me about his life with Don Evaristo and Clemencia, about how he had grown up, loved, and cared for me, about his passion for mechanics, about the strange dreams he always had about trucks. I told him about my search, about how I never remarried, about how every kilometer

The journey was a prayer to find him.
When the sun began to set, Tadeo looked at me with a serious expression. Dad, I need you to know something very important. Tell me, son. Don Evaristo and Doña Clemencia are my parents too. They saved me, raised me, taught me to be a man. I want to have you in my life, but I’ll never

forget what they did for me.
I smiled, feeling immense pride in my son Tadeo’s wisdom and gratitude. They are angels that God placed in your path when I couldn’t protect you. I have nothing but gratitude for them. They did the job that I should have done. And so it was on a sunny afternoon in March 2022, in a

lost workshop on Federal Highway 15, God finally answered a prayer that had lasted 24 years.
My son had been found, no longer as the baby I had lost, but as the wonderful man he had become in the hands of people who knew how to love him in my absence. The weeks following our first meeting were a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

Tadeo had given me his phone number, and we agreed that I would return the following Friday to talk more.
I left that workshop floating as if my feet weren’t touching the ground. 24 years of searching had come to an end. During that entire week, I could barely concentrate on work. I made the delivery in Mexicali on autopilot. My mind constantly returned to that magical moment when I hugged my

son for the first time in so long.
I called Pastor Eliseo to tell him about the miracle and he cried with me on the phone. Brother Atanasio, he said excitedly, this is living proof that God never abandons a father who searches for his son. Your perseverance was rewarded. When Friday came, I was anxious as a

teenager on his first date.
I bought some things for Tadeo. Good tools, a new pair of overalls, hygiene products, not knowing what would be appropriate to give a son I had just reunited with. Arriving at the workshop, Tadeo greeted me with a more shy smile than the first time. I realized that he was also

Processing the whole unexpected situation.
Don Evaristo and Clemencia were present, and she had prepared a special meal to mark the occasion. Clemencia was a small woman with gray hair tied back in a bun, with those kind eyes you immediately recognize in a real mother. When she saw me, she came toward me with tears in her eyes.

in the eyes.
Atanasio said, hugging me with maternal affection. Thank you for never giving up on our Tadeo. He always knew there was someone special looking for him. We all sat at the table in the simple house behind the workshop. It was a modest dwelling, but full of love, with photos of Tadeo.

at various ages scattered across the walls.
I saw my son growing up through those images. First day of school, graduations, birthdays, professional achievements. An entire life that I had missed, but that had been filled by these wonderful people. Atanasio, Don Evaristo, began by serving the roast beef he had

Prepared. I need you to know that Tadeo was always an exemplary son, he never gave us any problems, he was always a responsible worker. He can be proud of the man he became.
Tadeo was quiet, observing the interaction between us all. I could tell there was something bothering him, a tension he was trying to hide. During the meal, he asked a few questions about my life, about what it had been like growing up without him, about why I had never gotten back together with him.

marry.
I never found anyone worthwhile, I answered honestly. My heart was too busy looking for you. After lunch, Tadeo invited me to take a walk around the property. It was about 2 hectares in size, with the workshop in front, the house in the middle, and a small vegetable garden in the back.

We walked in silence for a few minutes until he stopped beneath a leafy mesquite tree.
“Dad,” he said, and I noticed he was choosing his words carefully. “I need to be honest with you about something.” My stomach tightened. “Tell me, son.” All these years, I created an image in my head of what my biological father would look like. I imagined someone who had abandoned me for not

wanting responsibility or someone who had died in an accident.
I never imagined there was someone desperately searching for me, he paused, looking at his own calloused hands. When you showed up here last week and told me the truth, my world turned upside down. Suddenly, my whole life story gained a chapter I didn’t know about. Tadeo, I began, but

He raised his hand, asking to be allowed to finish.
Let me say everything first, Dad. These past few days have been very confusing for me. On one hand, I’m happy to have found him, to know I always had a dad who loved me. On the other hand, I’m trying to process 25 years of living life thinking I was an orphan. He turned to face me directly.

You need to understand that Don Evaristo and Doña Clemencia aren’t just the people who raised me; they’re my true parents in the deepest sense of the word. They were there for every important moment of my life. I felt a tightness in my chest, but at the same time, a total understanding.

of what I was saying. I understand perfectly, Tadeo, and I don’t expect or want to take your place.
I know you understand, he continued, but I need to make it clear that I want to build a relationship with you, but respecting the family that took me in, I can’t simply erase 20 years of history. I took a deep breath and placed my hand on his shoulder. Tadeo, you are being very wise and very fair. I didn’t come here to

deconstruct your life, I came to complete it. Don Evaristo and Clemencia did the hardest work.
They transformed a traumatized child into a good man. I just want the chance to know who you became. His eyes filled with tears again. Thank you for understanding, Dad, because I really want to have you in my life.
I have so many questions about you, about our family, about where I come from. We spent the rest of the afternoon talking about everything. I told him about his paternal grandparents who had died before he was born, about uncles I’d never met, about the Mendoza family he was part of. He showed me

his tools, taught me some mechanical techniques he had developed, introduced me to the neighbors as my father who found me after 24 years.
When it was time for me to leave, Tadeo made me a proposal that deeply touched my heart. Dad, how about you come here every Friday? We could eat together, talk and get to know each other little by little. It would be the greatest gift of my life, son. And there’s something else, he said, taking something out of his pocket. It was a

small golden key. This is the key to my room here in the house.
I want you to have it in case you need to stay overnight or if you want to come visit me when you’re passing by. I gripped that key with trembling hands. It was much more than a piece of metal. It was the symbol that I had been accepted back into my son’s life.

On the way home, I stopped at a small church in Caborca ​​and spent an hour kneeling in gratitude. Lord, I prayed, thank you for taking care of Tadeo when I couldn’t. Thank you for putting Don Evaristo and Clemencia in his path. Thank you for giving me such a wise and balanced son. The weeks

The following established a routine that became the most precious part of my life.
Every Friday, no matter where I was, I organized my schedule to be at Don Evaristo’s workshop. Tadeo and I gradually developed a respectful intimacy, built on sincere conversations and shared moments. He told me about his professional dreams. He wanted to expand the workshop, maybe

Open branches in other cities. I shared my experience as an entrepreneur.
I offered contacts in the transportation industry, but always making it clear that any decision would be his. You know, Dad? he told me one of those afternoons. Sometimes I look at you and see where my passion for engines comes from. It’s as if it’s genetic. It really is genetic. Yes, son. Your grandfather too.

He was a mechanic.
You inherited him from the Mendozas. A month after our reunion, Tadeo asked me a question I’d been waiting for. Dad, would you like to meet my mom? Clemencia says she’d be happy to prepare a dinner to officially introduce us. It would be an honor, Tadeo. They deserve my eternal gratitude.

And so it was that one April evening in 2022, I sat at the table with the people who had raised my son in my absence.
There was no awkwardness, no competition, only mutual gratitude and shared love for an extraordinary young man who had miraculously united our lives. Atanasio, Clemencia, said that evening, Tadeo is happier than ever since you appeared. You completed a part of him that was always there.

Missing.
I looked at my strong, healthy, balanced son, surrounded by people who loved him, and I knew God had done everything right. I had lost 24 years of his childhood, but I gained the opportunity to know the wonderful man he had become. I am Atanasio Crisóstomo Mendoza.

I’m 56 years old, and this is the most incredible story of my life. If you want more stories like mine, subscribe to the Trucker’s Daily Channel. Every day we bring real testimonies from Mexican truck drivers who have had extraordinary experiences on our country’s roads.

Give it a like, share it with your friends, and activate the bell so you don’t miss any stories. Six months have passed since that transformative afternoon in Don Evaristo’s workshop. Today, as I write these words, I can say with certainty that my life was divided into two parts: before and after.

after reuniting with Tadeo. And the second part has been infinitely more blessed than the first.
Our Friday routine has become the most sacred moment of my week. No matter where I’m working, whether I’m in Sinaloa, Chihuahua, or even in more distant states, I always organize my schedule to be present at that weekly meeting. It’s the most important commitment of my life.

life, and Tadeo knows it. What impresses me most is how our relationship evolved naturally, without forcing anything, respecting each other’s time.
In the first few months, there was still some shyness on both sides. I didn’t quite know how to act with an adult son I had lost throughout childhood, and he was processing the presence of a biological father he always imagined as an abstract figure. But little by little, we began to discover

surprising affinities. Tadeo inherited not only my physical appearance and mechanical ability, but also small gestures and quirks that I didn’t even realize I had. Clemencia was the first to notice.
Atanasio, you all have the same way of scratching your head when you’re thinking, the same way you tilt your body when you examine an engine. One memorable afternoon occurred in June when Tadeo was struggling to diagnose a complex problem with an automatic transmission. He had been spending hours

trying to identify the fault, clearly frustrated.
I walked over and instinctively began to examine the equipment. Within a few minutes, we identified the problem as a faulty speed sensor. “How did you know that so quickly, Dad?” he asked in awe. “Experience, son. And also because you were looking in the right place, just

You needed a second opinion.
At that moment, I felt like I was finally living up to the title of dad, not only emotionally, but also by sharing practical knowledge. It was at that time that I made a decision that would completely change my professional life.

During a conversation with Tadeo about his plans for expanding the workshop, I realized that I could contribute much more than just occasional advice. Tadeo, I said one Friday in July, I have a proposal for you and Don Evaristo. Say, Dad, what if I become a minority partner in the

workshop? I can invest in expansion, bring my network of truck driver contacts, and gradually reduce my travel time so I can spend more time here. His eyes lit up.
He’d do that, but what about his job as a truck driver? Son, after 30 years on the road, it’s time to slow down, and there’s nothing in the world I’d like more than to work alongside my son. Don Evaristo, who was listening to our conversation, approached with a broad smile. Atanasio would be a

It’s an honor to have him as a partner. Tadeo always talks about his ideas for improving the business.
And that’s how we formalized the partnership in August 2022. The Pacheco and Sons workshop became the Pacheco and Mendoza workshop, a man who united the two families who had met through Tadeo. I invested years of savings in expanding the business. We purchased modern equipment, expanded

the physical space and created a rest area specifically for trailers. The result exceeded all our expectations.
In the first few months after the expansion, our traffic tripled. Truckers I’d known for decades began going out of their way to use our services, both for the technical quality and the exciting story behind the business. Atanasio, Don told me

Refugio, that trailer or veteran from León who always helped me in my search for Tadeo.
Seeing you two working together is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever witnessed. It’s proof that God has plans greater than our understanding. But the most profound transformation in my life wasn’t professional, it was spiritual. The reunion with Tadeo awakened in me such intense gratitude that

I felt the need to express it in a concrete way.
I began to regularly attend the Pentecostal Church of Magdalena, the same one that Don Evaristo and Clemencia had been attending for decades. Pastor Jeremías, a wise man of about 60 years old, welcomed me warmly when Tadeo introduced me as his father. Germano Atanasio said, “Your story is a

living testimony of the power of prayer and God’s faithfulness.
I would like you to share your testimony with our congregation. On the first Sunday of September, I stood at the pulpit of that simple church and told my story to more than 200 people. I spoke about the 24 years of searching, about how I never lost faith, about the miracle of reunion. When

I finished, there wasn’t a dry eye in the church.
Several people sought me out afterward to tell their own stories of lost children, of separated families, of prayers still unanswered. Their testimony gave me hope, said Doña Francisca, a 70-year-old woman. I haven’t heard from my grandson in 15 years, but after hearing

I will continue to pray and believe in your story.
That moment marked the beginning of a ministry I never imagined I would have. I began to be invited to speak at other churches, tell my story on local radio stations, and participate in television programs, always with the same message. Never give up praying, never lose faith. God has the time.

perfect for every blessing.
Tadeo is very proud of this new phase of my life. Dad, he recently told me, seeing how you use our story to give people hope fills me with joy. It’s as if all those years of suffering had served something greater. During Christmas 2022, we experienced a moment

that will remain eternally engraved in my memory.
Clemencia had organized a special dinner inviting relatives and close friends. When the time came for the prayer of thanksgiving, Tadeo asked to speak. People, he said excitedly, this year was the most special of my life. Not because I obtained material things or because the business grew, it was

special because my family is complete. I have my parents, Don Evaristo and Clemencia, who saved me and raised me with love, and now I have my father, Atanasio, who never gave up looking for me.
He paused, controlling his emotion. I want to thank God for allowing these three people who love each other to find each other in this way. There is no competition between you, there is only multiplied love. At that moment, Don Evaristo, Clemencia, and I looked at each other and knew we had built

something much bigger than a simple family reunion.
We had created a web of love that had withstood time, distance, and the most adverse circumstances. Today, when I look back, I see the hand of God in every detail of this journey. If Remedios hadn’t left with Tadeo, perhaps he would have grown up in an unstable family, marked by

because of her drug problems.
If I had found Tadeo in the early years of searching, I might not have had the maturity to accept Don Evaristo and Clemencia as part of the equation. The divine timing was perfect. Tadeo grew up in a structured family, became a man of integrity, and when we

We reunited, both of us possessing the emotional wisdom necessary to build a healthy relationship.
Now, at 56, I can say I’m whole. I have a wonderful son, a thriving business, an extended family that welcomed me wholeheartedly, and a life purpose that goes beyond my personal needs. I use my story to inspire others to never give up on their dreams.

of his prayers, of his faith.
Tadeo is dating a beautiful girl named Fernanda, daughter of a local rancher. We’re already joking about the possibility of me becoming a grandfather soon. When we have children, I joke with him, I’m going to make up for all the time I’ve lost spoiling my grandchildren. This story has no ending because

It continues to be written every day, every Friday we spend together, every client we serve in the workshop, every testimony I share, every prayer of gratitude I say before bed. All of this is part of a miracle in motion. If
you’re listening to this story and you have someone you’ve lost, someone you’ve been praying for for years, someone who seems to have disappeared from your life forever, don’t give up. God knows where that person is, knows every detail of their situation, and has a perfect plan for them to be

meet again.
My 24-year journey of searching ended in a remote workshop on Federal Highway 15 with a hug that healed decades of pain. Your journey will also have a blessed ending in God’s perfect timing, in the place he chooses. As I always say now in my testimonies, the Father’s love never ceases.

yields. Persevering prayer is always heard, and God’s miracles may take time, but they always arrive at the perfect time. M.