McALLEN — This is who they are, the immigrants Sister Norma Pimentel called "lucky."

A 5-month-old baby girl, alert in the arms of a cheery Catholic Charities volunteer in a floral dress and green apron who greets the baby's father and other disoriented parents who've been dropped off at a bus station.

A little girl in unicorn-print pants who rummages through a garbage bag full of donated plush toys and falls for a small white dog with a pink ribbon.

A young father who promised his wife to keep their 7-year-old daughter safe through a perilous journey and who smiles because he kept his word.

Since May, the Catholic Charities Humanitarian Respite Center in McAllen, run by Pimentel, has received hundreds of Central American families released from federal custody while they await the next steps in civil deportation proceedings.

Pimentel said limited government resources might explain how those immigrants avoided the fate of hundreds of others caught in the Trump administration's zero-tolerance policy, which referred unauthorized border-crossers for prosecution.

For the parents, that meant criminal detention, and something worse, still: having their children taken away by U.S. officials without a word as to where they were being shipped.

Volunteer Blanca Munoz carried 5-month-old Selene as she walked with the baby's father, Angel Bonilla (right) and other immigrants and their families from the McAllen Central Station to the Catholic Charities Humanitarian Respite Center. (Staff Photographer / Smiley N. Pool)

Juan Carlos, a 29-year-old Guatemalan father, set out for the United States about June 4 with his 7-year-old daughter, Karla. By the time he and Karla were called to dinner Wednesday at the respite center in McAllen, President Donald Trump had already signed an executive order ending the separation of migrant children from parents after unrelenting condemnation from around the world.

However, more than 2,000 children ripped from their families in the last two months remain at detention facilities in Texas and other states, and those entering the country without proper documentation may still end up with criminal charges.

Trump's zero-tolerance policy — announced in April — failed to deter Juan Carlos. The father, who asked that his last name be withheld to protect his family, said he and his wife had discussed the possibility of separation. She ordered Juan Carlos not to let Karla get away from him.

"You have to take a risk," said Juan Carlos, who grew maize and beans in Guatemala. "Life is hard. ... There is work over there, but the pay is less."

His wife stayed in Guatemala, so Juan Carlos traveled to the border a single parent. When Karla grew tired, he lulled her to sleep. In the mornings, he tended to her requests for food and water.

At one point, a smuggler tossed Juan Carlos' backpack filled with his belongings to make it less conspicuous that he was an immigrant. Karla was allowed to keep her tiny backpack. Juan Carlos pulled a Bible out of it.

"It's a powerful weapon," he said.

He found his faith rewarded after crossing the Rio Grande on June 12. He and Karla were captured, but they were separated only for a few hours while he was being processed. After a week in federal custody, a bus took them to McAllen Central Station, where a volunteer escorted them to the Catholic Charities center.

He wears an ankle monitor, but he's free, unlike the immigrants in shackles who spill from a bus at the federal courthouse across the street.

A woman sleeps at the Catholic Charities Humanitarian Respite Center after being processed and released by U.S. Customs and Border Protection. (Staff Photographer / Smiley N. Pool)

At the respite center — a small white hall covered in blue chairs and images of Christ and the Virgin Mary — Juan Carlos and Karla were offered clean clothes, Minnie Mouse plush toys and warm cheese pizza for dinner. A volunteer walked by with a tray of vanilla creme cookies: "Mija, ¿quieres galletitas?"

Some babies fussed and others napped while their parents waited for volunteers to help them call relatives in the United States who could get them bus tickets to their next destination. In those cities — Dallas, New York, Las Vegas — immigrants will receive notices for their deportation hearings.

An attorney with Texas RioGrande Legal Aid encouraged the immigrants to call a government number, instead of waiting for the notice in the mail, should it get lost or delayed.

"Don't be afraid to call that number," she told them.

This scene isn't new in McAllen. The center has been open since 2014, when a wave of immigrant families and unaccompanied children from Central American began overwhelming the U.S.-Mexico border, driven there by poverty and gang violence.

Well-wishers have flocked to the respite center to drop off donations or spend some time with the families. Rabbi Seth Winberg flew to McAllen from Boston on Wednesday. He said it was agonizing to spend Father's Day hearing stories about family separations.

The respite center reminded him of the Emma Lazarus poem inscribed on the Statue of Liberty.

"That's the feeling in this room," said Winberg, a father of three. "They're huddled, and they're trying to stay together, and they're trying to reach freedom in a country that will welcome them."

On Thursday morning, some families returned to the bus station to continue their journeys under a punishing storm that flooded the streets. They had no luggage, only reusable H-E-B bags with folded clothes and a few possessions. Parents carried their documents in a manila envelope covered with a message printed in large font: "Please help me. I do not speak English. What bus do I need to take?"

Yes, they were lucky. They had their children. But their families were not whole.

A woman carries an envelope marked with bus times as she heads from the bus station to the Catholic Charities Humanitarian Respite Center. (Staff Photographer / Smiley N. Pool)

Mélida Lopez said Thursday that she hadn't heard from her husband since they were separated at the border several days ago, after they fled gangs in Honduras. She was able to keep their two girls, 4-year-old Katherine and 7-year-old Ashley.

"We came under threat," Lopez said in Spanish, pulling down her sweater to show a jagged scar on her breast, where she says she was attacked with a machete.

The girls are bundled in scarves and jackets, bound for Colorado. They're sick about the separation from their father, and they have been crying for days, Lopez said.

She prays for a reunion with her husband.

"I'm asking my God," Lopez, 33, said. "I don't want to be away from him."

1 / 8A volunteer staples a message in english to an envelope of paperwork for an immigrant to take with them to the bus station at the Catholic Charities RGV Humanitarian Respite Center on Wednesday, June 20, 2018, in McAllen, Texas.(Smiley N. Pool / Staff Photographer) 2 / 8A young immigrant girl plays with a donated toy at the Catholic Charities RGV Humanitarian Respite Center on Wednesday, June 20, 2018, in McAllen.(Smiley N. Pool / Staff Photographer) 3 / 8Young immigrants and their families dodge puddles as they walk from the bus station to the Catholic Charities RGV Humanitarian Respite Center after being processed and released by U.S. Customs and Border Protection on Wednesday, June 20, 2018, in McAllen. (Smiley N. Pool / Staff Photographer) 4 / 8Sister Norma Pimentel talks with immigrants Hector Cordova and his son Milton Cordova from Honduras as they watch World Cup Soccer at the Catholic Charities RGV Humanitarian Respite Center on Wednesday, June 20, 2018, in McAllen.(Smiley N. Pool / Staff Photographer) 5 / 8Angel Bonilla holds his 5-month-old daughter Selene at the Catholic Charities RGV Humanitarian Respite Center on Wednesday, June 20, 2018, in McAllen.(Smiley N. Pool / Staff Photographer) 6 / 8Volunteers deliver donations to the Catholic Charities RGV Humanitarian Respite Center on Wednesday, June 20, 2018, in McAllen. (Smiley N. Pool / Staff Photographer) 7 / 8Volunteer Blanca Munoz carries a baby as she leads a group of young immigrants and their families as they walk from the bus station to the Catholic Charities RGV Humanitarian Respite Center after being processed and released by U.S. Customs and Border Protection on Wednesday, June 20, 2018, in McAllen.Morning News)(Smiley N. Pool / Staff Photographer) 8 / 8Mélida Lopez, far left, waits with her two daughter to board a bus in McAllen.(Dianne Solis / Staff)

Honduran father Héctor Córdova said he didn't know about the forced family separations when he decided to take his 17-year-old son to the United States.

If he had been aware, he wouldn't have done it, he said Thursday as he waited for a bus.

They, too, came fleeing the gangs, or maras, as they are known in Central America. Córdova's son, Milton, said he and other classmates were scared to even go to school because the maras were interested in recruiting them.

It was a relief to reach the respite center, where they took their first shower in days and watched a World Cup game together. Córdova said they had spent almost a week in a cold federal detention facility, separated by a chain-link fence and forced to sleep on the floor with foil blankets for the first two nights. The father saw a woman weeping as officials took away her son.

It wasn't just discomfort that he felt, Córdova said. It was terror.

"Nobody knows what can happen over there," he said.