Erlin Centeno's family has been gripped by fear of separation since his detention four months ago during a routine check-in with immigration authorities in New York City.

The danger became tragically real after four of Centeno's cousins were killed, a consequence of their activism defending the territorial rights of Afro-Indigenous Garifuna communities in Honduras. According to court transcripts from NBC News, Centeno and his wife, Trini Merced Palacios, disclosed that threats escalated with intimidating letters and messages, compelling them to seek refuge in the United States in 2022.

Palacios, deeply affected by her husband's absence, tearfully shared her anguish in a June 13 interview. "I feel terrible every time I talk about it," she said in Spanish, cradling their restless 2-year-old daughter, Genesis, who has struggled to sleep since her father's detention. Even in her sleep, Genesis calls out for "papá," leaving Palacios to reassure her with uncertain promises of reunion.

"My greatest fear is that they will deport him to Honduras, where he faced death threats," Palacios said, voicing the family's gravest concern.

Centeno's detention has stirred profound concerns among his loved ones and legal team, who fear he could face peril if sent back to Honduras. Despite his asylum ineligibility due to a prior deportation order, their hope lies in convincing immigration authorities that returning him to Honduras would imperil his life—a stance supported by the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights (IACHR).

The Garifuna people, descendants of enslaved Africans and Indigenous Caribbean communities, have endured systematic violence, racism, and land disputes in Honduras. Centeno became an activist in 2020, aligned with the Black Fraternal Organization of Honduras, advocating against these injustices. The IACHR has documented numerous cases of violence and disappearances among Garifuna activists, underscoring the grave risks Centeno faces if deported.

In New York City, Centeno had integrated into the community, working in construction and attending church with his family. They had hoped to move out of their temporary shelter and build a stable life until his detention shattered their aspirations.

Palacios vividly recalls the day of his detention, February 14, when they nervously attended the ICE appointment, hoping for a routine check-in. Instead, they endured an agonizing separation as Centeno was taken into custody, transported over a hundred miles away to a detention center in rural Pennsylvania. The abruptness and inexplicability of his detention left Palacios feeling like "they took a part of me," she lamented.

Despite efforts, Centeno's reasonable fear interview, intended to assess his risk if deported, concluded without a favorable outcome. His attorney cited procedural irregularities and inadequate translation that hindered his ability to fully present his case. The subsequent immigration hearing upheld the negative assessment, compounding the family's distress.

Palacios, Keslor, and their legal team are now urging ICE to reconsider, underscoring the profound impact on their lives. Keslor, their 10-year-old son, wrote a heartfelt plea in Spanish, urging for his father's release and expressing how deeply he misses him. "I miss my dad very much," Keslor's letter reads, capturing the emotional toll on the family.

With legal avenues narrowing, their last hope rests on an appeal pending in federal court, challenging Centeno's old deportation order. The outcome hinges on a forthcoming legal decision that could set a precedent for cases like his.

Meanwhile, Palacios, Keslor, and Genesis cling to hope, praying for a resolution that will allow Centeno to return home and resume his role as a loving father and husband. Their journey epitomizes the plight of many immigrants navigating a complex legal system, holding onto hope amid uncertainty and fear.