Authorities searched the shoreline. Volunteers combed the sand. Hours stretched into days. No trace appeared. Not a shoe. Not her favorite cloth doll. It was as if Sofía had simply dissolved into the humid air.
Eventually, the family returned home to Mexico City, carrying questions that had no answers. For Elena, hope refused to die. She printed flyers. She visited organizations that helped families searching for missing loved ones. She traveled whenever someone claimed to have seen a girl who looked like her daughter.
Years passed.
Her husband, Javier, grew quiet and withdrawn. The strain wore him down. He passed away three years later, leaving Elena alone in their small bakery in the Roma Norte neighborhood. People admired her strength. She opened the shop every morning. She baked sweet bread. She smiled at customers.
But every night, she whispered Sofía’s name like a prayer.
Life Goes On, Even When You Don’t Want It To
Elena never believed her daughter was gone forever. In her heart, Sofía was still alive somewhere. Growing. Learning. Waiting.
Eight years after that day on the beach, Elena was sitting in the doorway of her bakery on a stifling April morning. The scent of fresh conchas drifted into the street. An old pickup truck pulled up, and a group of young men stepped inside to buy water and pastries.
She greeted them politely, barely looking up.
Then her gaze froze.
On the arm of one of the young men was a tattoo. Simple lines. A girl’s face. Large eyes. Braided hair.
Elena felt the blood drain from her face.
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