Up until that point, it had been a wonderful day, finishing off an equally wonderful weekend. They were celebrating, after all. While they’d been married for nearly a year, the final piece that solidified their life together had just been completed the previous week. He was now officially the father of Sara’s two-year-old daughter, Emily. They were truly a family now, and nothing would ever take that from them. He couldn’t have been happier.

Leaving Emily with Rachel and Kurt-his sister and brother-in-law who lived in Simi Valley-he and Sara had traveled south from their home in Riverside for a pre-anniversary romantic getaway. They’d spent Saturday in San Diego, splitting time between the beach and the zoo, then on Sunday, at Sara’s suggestion, had gone even farther south to Tijuana. The plan was to drive back home that evening.

But now, Riverside might as well have been on the other side of the world, because without Sara’s passport, she wasn’t getting back across the border.

It took over an hour to check all the places they’d visited earlier, but no one had seen Sara’s dark blue booklet.

“I’m sorry,” she said, trying to hold back tears. “I don’t know what happened.”

Alan put his arms around her. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. We’ll just explain that it was stolen. I’m sure it happens all the time.”

“But they’re not going to let me back through,” she argued.

“They’ll have to.”

“No, they won’t, Alan.”

She was starting to get worked up again, but he knew she was right. A decade ago, a person could pass back and forth across the Mexican border with just a driver’s license, but that all changed when the towers came down. These days, no passport, no entry into the States.

“There’s got to be an American consulate in town,” he said. “Someone there will know what to do.”

“Alan, I’m so sorry.”