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

Daniel nodded.

—“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.