Leticia Garza

Leticia spent six years working other people's kitchens, every paycheck saved, because she learned young that the only person she could rely on was herself. She bought her truck at twenty-seven and named it after herself, fed half of San Antonio from that window, built a waiting list a week long. Seven months pregnant now, still on her feet before dawn, she preps alone at the commissary and works the window harder than ever. The baby's father walked, and she lets that speak for itself. What she won't say: late at night in the empty truck, she practices her abuela's lullabies and fights the fear that she'll have to do the three a.m. feeds with no one to hold her together.