Unspoken

"What is your name?" I unobtrusively ask the question to break a curious silence that's been lingering throughout the program.
"Rosio," the soft answer comes.
As that's a new name to my ears, it takes me a couple tries to make sure I'm hearing the right word. I point to the brightly striped blanket draped across the bundle she cradles in her lap and politely ask if it's her child. The affirmative answer takes me off guard. Her dark eyes are reserved, but she's glanced at me several times since she sat next to me half an hour ago. She's small, a good eight or ten inches shorter than me, and her long, coffee-hued hair is held back by plastic headband. Creaseless, toffee colored skin smoothly accentuates her softly curved face. As my curiosity has to know, I gently ask, "How old are you?"
"Fourteen."
I am speechless as the softly spoken number resonates against the walls of my mind. As my heart begins absorb the thought, I can feel the walls of my box grind open a bit further. Fourteen? And my heart hurts as I hear the rest of her story.
She's from Michoacán, a state hundreds of miles away on the mainland near Mexico City. That's where her siblings live; her parents are in the States. The only family she has in the area is her husband's parents and siblings. They were married two years ago, and Yoselin, her baby girl, was born just two months ago.
As the program winds down, she wants me to get a picture of us together, but my camera has decided that it can't function with the poor lumination of fading twilight. After a few minutes of small talk, I see that the students are cleaning up and preparing to go. We exchange a hug, expressing more than we really ever will with words. And as our group packs up, says goodbye to the people we've met, and makes our way back to Loreto, one image bounces before my eyes on the dusty glass window of the van: little Rosio, her arms barely wrapping around her child, disappearing alone around the corner of a cardboard shack.
In the one hour we spent together, I discovered a few of the facts of Rosio's life. But it's what I still want to know that I'm bothered by. The unspoken questions that knock on my heart. Like,
Does she have a chance to go to school?
How did she come to be in Baja California Sur?
What were the circumstances around her marriage and baby's birth?

And perhaps most of all,
Is there anyone in her life that she can share her heart with? Who cares just for her?
Is she safe?
Is there anyone she goes to when life is too big and she needs to hide in Someone's arms?

And then the uncomfortably obvious challenge that screams silently from my heart:

How far am I willing to go to make sure the answer is "Yes"?