Years ago, when Daniel was still a teenager, his mother came home one evening with a frightened little girl. She said she had found her alone by a road. The child was crying and talking about a beach, a yellow dress, and a lost doll.

Daniel admitted he sensed something was wrong. But he was young. His mother had told him not to ask questions. She was afraid. Afraid of losing the girl. Afraid of doing something wrong.

Sofía stayed. She went to school. She laughed. She learned to sing. In the evenings, she asked to hear a familiar prayer, one of those her mother recited. Elena heard it and collapsed, the tears finally flowing freely.

“Is she alive?” Elena asked, barely able to speak.

Daniel nodded.

“Yes, she is. She’s strong.”

A reunion she had longed for for years.

That same afternoon, Daniel took Elena to the small clinic where Sofía worked. The journey seemed endless. Elena clutched her rosary, torn between hope and fear. What if Sofía didn’t recognize her? What if she didn’t want to?

Inside the clinic, a young woman with braided hair looked up from the counter and smiled at Daniel.

Then she saw Elena