MALINALCO, Mexico _ As the cell door slammed behind him at an immigrant detention center in Detroit, Jose Roberto Tetatzin knew his life as an American was about to come to an abrupt end.
He thought about all the things he had acquired over 10 years of hard work in Michigan: the apartment full of furniture, the cool clothes, the cars.
And he thought about his daughters, 7-year-old Angela and newborn Lesli, both U.S. citizens who until that morning had such bright futures ahead of them.
Tetatzin knew he was going to be deported to his native Mexico. Now he and his partner, Judith Cristal Gudino, would have to decide what to do next.
Should the girls stay in the U.S. with Gudino, or should the whole family relocate to Mexico?
At night, he talked through the dilemma with other detained immigrant fathers in the same situation, men from Central America, Africa, even the Middle East. Sometimes, they cried together.
When Tetatzin was finally deported in 2015 in connection with a drunken driving conviction two years earlier, he was part of a large wave of Mexicans returning home.
More Mexicans have left the U.S. than have migrated to it in recent years, data show, a reversal of the largest flow of incoming migrants in modern U.S. history and a significant new chapter in the immigration narrative that has long dominated U.S. politics and culture.
Some have returned to reconnect with family or take advantage of new opportunities in Mexico, where a declining birth rate means less competition for jobs. Others have been forced out, either deported, like Tetatzin, or deciding to leave because, in Donald Trump's America, they felt less welcome.
In any case, the trend has sparked both hope and concern in Mexico. Many view the large numbers coming back as brimming with potential. Many returnees bring home English and other skills learned in the U.S. But others in Mexico are concerned; they fear unwanted competition for jobs, or worry that deportees sent home for committing crimes could worsen the country's already high levels of violence.
On the day of his deportation, as his parents picked him up at the airport in Mexico City and drove him home to Malinalco, Tetatzin saw a town full of fancy new hotels and restaurants that had appeared during his 10-year absence.
Global companies seeking cheap labor and easy access to U.S. markets had opened factories in parts of Mexico and poured in investments. Though wages were still much lower than in the U.S., the middle class was growing, and its members wanted to buy cars, build homes and take vacations in pretty towns like Malinalco.
At first, all Tetatzin could think about was getting money together to pay a coyote to smuggle him back north. It hurt watching Lesli celebrate her 1st birthday in Michigan by video chat from 2,000 miles away.
"Don't," Gudino told him. If he was caught, he would be charged with illegal re-entry, a felony punishable by up to two years in prison.
"Stay in Mexico," she said. "We're coming."
After Tetatzin had been detained, Gudino's blood pressure had shot up, and she had fallen into depression. She had signed up for food stamps.
Studying in the U.S. was a great opportunity for the girls, she told him, but they need you more.
"They need your fatherly support," she said. "And as a wife, I need my husband's support."
So she sold all the cars, furniture and electronics they'd amassed during their decade in America and bought three plane tickets back to Mexico.
They left as soon as the girls' royal-blue U.S. passports arrived in the mail.
