Elena broke down. She no longer tried to hold back. She cried for her husband who had died, for the lost years, for the child who had grown up far from her.

—“Is she alive?” she asked through sobs.

—“She’s alive. And she’s strong. Very strong.”

He had seen her for the last time two months earlier. Sofía—now an eighteen-year-old young woman—worked as an assistant at a community clinic. Teresa had died the year before and, before passing, confessed everything. She told Sofía she was not her biological daughter, that she had found her on the beach in Puerto Vallarta and had been afraid.

—“Sofía was very angry,” Daniel said. “But she forgave her too.”

When Elena heard that, she knew her daughter was still the same big-hearted girl.

That very afternoon, they went together to the clinic.

The journey felt endless. Elena clutched a rosary in her fingers. She feared it was all a cruel dream. She feared Sofía wouldn’t recognize her. She feared Sofía wouldn’t want to see her.

When they entered, a young woman with dark, braided hair looked up from the counter. Her eyes lit up when she saw Daniel.

—“What are you doing here?” she asked with a smile.

Then she looked at Elena.

Time stopped.

Elena said nothing. She couldn’t. She took a single step forward. Sofía studied her intently, as if something ancient awakened inside her. She saw the trembling hands, the tear-filled eyes, the face marked by years.

—“Mom?” she said, almost without realizing it.

Elena pressed a hand to her chest and fell to her knees.

No tests, papers, or long explanations were needed. They embraced as if the body remembered what the mind had forgotten. They cried together, laughed together, trembled together.

For hours they talked. Sofía told her life. Elena told hers. They spoke of Javier, of sweet bread, of Roma Norte, of the searches, of nights spent praying.

Sofía pulled a small, worn object from her backpack: a cloth doll.

—“I found it years later,” she said. “I always knew I had another life before.”

The days that followed were filled with paperwork and DNA tests that confirmed what the heart already knew. The news reached the neighborhood, old acquaintances, and Las Madres Buscadoras—not as a tragedy, but as a miracle.

Sofía decided to move to Mexico City to live with her mother. Not out of obligation, but by choice.

För fullständiga tillagningssteg, gå till nästa sida eller klicka på Öppna-knappen (>), och glöm inte att DELA med dina Facebook-vänner.