a tale of two cities

Your name is Sofía Valdez, apparently. It tastes like a lie when you say it.Your mother tells you she'd named you for some unquantifiable wisdom she had been sure, even as an infant, you'd possess, or had possessed. You bite back something bitter about how would you know. You're not sure if it's cruel of you to nurture that seed of resentment - all your mother had done, those years ago, was disappear. You'd done plenty of that yourself. Like mother, like daughter - the two of you had been a tale of two cities, and it stings, after those years combing almost every continent in search of her, to sit at the kitchen table and look into eyes the same shape as your own.