LOS ANGELES — Wilber Urbina Garcia had an ambitious list of errands to run the day after his high school graduation, before his summer really began.

The shy boy was the first in his family to walk the graduation stage, and he was determined to get a head start on his future. He had a diploma to pick up, a high school textbook to return and fall classes to register for at El Camino College.

Those plans had to wait until the family completed a check-in with Immigration and Customs Enforcement that morning. The appointments had become second nature since they entered the country from Nicaragua seeking asylum in late 2022.

The family of five left their South Los Angeles home before sunrise and arrived at the federal courthouse ahead of their 8 a.m. appointment.

That evening, they came home without Wilber. He had been taken into custody by immigration agents.

"All he wanted was to learn, but all of his dreams just came crashing down," said Winston Garcia, one of Wilber's older brothers. "We don't know what's going to happen to him. We don't know if he'll get out, or when."

Even the scorching sun wasn't enough to wipe the smiles off the Garcia family's faces as they watched Wilber cross the stage at Jordan High School on June 9, graduating with high honors.

The family posed next to Wilber, who had long struggled to speak up but had flourished in the last four years. Winston's phone filled up with photos of Wilber with friends, teachers and counselors.

Those same teachers rushed to write character references when they found out that Wilber had been detained by ICE.

They describe a shy but headstrong kid, who was extremely disciplined and dedicated to his studies. By his senior year, Wilber could present projects in English and held leadership roles at the school.

Wilber enjoyed playing the vintage video games he collected with his oldest brother and was learning how to play baseball with his friends. On weekend mornings, he'd wake his mom up with freshly made gallo pinto, a Nicaraguan breakfast of fried rice and red beans, served with scrambled eggs and sweet plantains.

But he always made sure to finish his schoolwork first, his family said.

The family, who said they fled political persecution by the government of Nicaraguan President Daniel Ortega, were granted work permits and allowed to stay in the country while pursuing their asylum case, said their lawyer, Armineh Ebrahimian. They declined to provide details about the persecution for fear of retaliation by the Nicaraguan government.

A Department of Homeland Security spokesperson said that Wilber was released into the country through "the Biden administration's disastrous parole program ... despite having no legal status to be here."

"If a person enters our country illegally, they are subject to detention or deportation," the spokesperson said. "Each illegal alien receives due process."

In L.A., the Garcia family found opportunities they could never imagine in Nicaragua, said Wilber's mother, Yadira Garcia. The single mother found a stable and well-paying job at a packaging center. She no longer had to worry about whether her paycheck would be enough to put food on the table. She didn't have to fear that Nicaragua's unstable government would target her children as they got older.

Most importantly, the two youngest siblings would get a better chance at an education. On the journey to the U.S., they fantasized about what classes would be offered at their new school. They brainstormed the career paths they might pursue.

Wilson, the eldest son, suggested that Wilber choose engineering.

But the Garcia family's youngest boy already had a career picked out — he was going to become a doctor.

The family's asylum application was split into two cases, one of which included Yadira and the two minor children, Ebrahimian said. The second application included Wilson, now 32, and his young daughter. (Winston had come to the U.S. several months earlier than the others.)

The ICE check-ins were typically biannual but suddenly became more frequent, Yadira said — once a month starting this year.

The Garcias, however, weren't alarmed. They had submitted all the necessary paperwork and attended every appointment on time. There was no reason to panic when they were scheduled for another check-in on June 10, Yadira said.

The Trump administration's immigration crackdown, which included aggressive raids in Los Angeles and around the country, has seeped into courtrooms. The administration has shifted its focus toward legal immigration, with tactics that include restricting asylum applications and detaining immigrants who show up for routine check-ins.

That day, according to Yadira, immigration agents directed Wilber into an empty interview room. Yadira wasn't told why her son was taken away. After hours of waiting, an agent finally said he had been detained.

Wilber, who had turned 18 in August, was now an adult and no longer counted under his mother's asylum case, the agent said.

"I've tried so hard to do everything right," Yadira said. "I follow all the rules. I haven't missed a single appointment. I don't know why they did this to us."

The ICE agents should never have separated Wilber from his family, according to Ebrahimian.

Wilber was considered a "derivative" of his mother's asylum case because he was under 21 when the application was submitted. That doesn't change, even after the child turns 18, Ebrahimian said.

Being detained at an immigration check-in is always a possibility, regardless of the case, said Edgardo Quintanilla, a Los Angeles immigration lawyer. He agreed with Ebrahimian that a child should remain tied to their parent's asylum case, as long as they are designated a derivative when the application is filed.

But after the child turns 21, Quintanilla said, they end up "simply drifting in the system," without a direct asylum case to their name.

The Department of Homeland Security spokesperson confirmed that a child attached to a parent's immigration case does not lose the claim upon turning 18, but said that a pending asylum application doesn't confer legal status.

Ebrahimian has pleaded with ICE to let Wilber go and submitted seven letters from teachers and counselors.

"I've been doing this for a very long time. What I'm seeing now, it's just so unusual," she said.

Yadira said that the ICE agent turned to her daughter Yuneisi, set to turn 18 in a couple weeks.

She'll be next, he said.

Alone in the interview room, Wilber sent a quick text letting Winston know that he was separated from their mother. Winston, 30, who was waiting for them outside, had married a U.S. citizen and become a legal resident.

At around 10 a.m. the next morning, Winston's phone finally rang. The caller ID said "Prison."

"They took me," Wilber said, his squeaky voice barely audible amid the static. The call dropped after about 10 seconds.

Winston rushed over to visit his brother, who was still at the courthouse where his check-in had been scheduled. They spoke for about 10 minutes. As Wilber was ushered out of the room by an agent, he turned back to Winston.

"Please, remember to pick up my diploma," he said. He hesitated before adding, "And you'll have to call my college. Tell them I won't be able to attend."

Wilber spends most of his days at Adelanto ICE Processing Center in tears, surrounded by detainees much older than him, his family said.

Ebrahimian said it will likely be weeks before she can schedule a hearing and try to get him out on bond.

Winston has nightmares about how his youngest brother is being treated. Does he have food? Did the facility provide him with an asthma inhaler?

The mother and eldest son have dozens of ICE check-in appointments and at-home visits scheduled for the next couple of months. The two are now in removal proceedings and will have to fight their case in immigration court, Ebrahimian said. Both have been fitted with ankle monitors. Yadira worries she'll lose her job because of how many days she's had to take off from work.

In the family living room, Wilber's cap and gown hang on the wall next to a Virgin Mary altar.

Wilber and his sister had spent days decorating the cap, bedazzling the bottom half in blue and white gems — the colors of the Nicaraguan flag.

They debated what quote they should add to the cap, before finally landing on one.

The gold lettering reads, "Gracias Dios por este logro — Thank you, God, for this accomplishment."

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