It wasn't a meeting, but a return . At the airport in Santiago, Chile, amid the comings and goings of passengers and the cold neon lights, three women embraced in an embrace they had waited 46 years for .
On one side, Adelia and Maria Beatrice Mereu, twins born in 1979 in Santiago and adopted in Sardinia when they were just nine months old.
On the other, their biological mother, Maria Verónica Soto Toro, who was 17 at the time and who for nearly fifty years never stopped looking for them . The last time they touched was in 1979, in a clinic in the Chilean capital, when the newborns were deceived and taken away from her. Forty-six years later, the story has been pieced together.
Fate brought Adelia and Maria Beatrice to Escalaplano, in central Sardinia , where two elementary school teachers, Maria Antonietta Chessa and Luciano Mereu, had adopted them along with another Chilean newborn, Sebastian. "We knew from a very young age that we were adopted," Adelia says today.
"Our parents never hid it from us. Before we started nursery school, they told us the truth about our origins. They told us that our biological mother couldn't take us in because she was poor." Childhood in Sardinia was filled with new roots, but also with unresolved questions.
"In our bedroom, we always said to each other: I wonder what our mother is like, if she's alive, if we have brothers or sisters, what our country on the other side of the world is like: will it be as poor as they say? Or will it be beautiful? Finding our 'real' mother had always been our dream, but we didn't know where or how to start. There was no one to help us."
In Escalaplano they found uncles who were like grandparents and a community that never made them feel like strangers.
"They've always loved us," Adelia repeats. But their serenity was shattered when her adoptive father, Luciano, died. "As long as he was around, everything was beautiful. Afterward, our adoptive mother felt his absence, and so, at sixteen, my sister and I decided to leave." They remained together on the island for many years, then their paths diverged: Adelia, at 21, moved to Lesmo, Brianza, with her husband from Riola Sardo, and became the mother of four children. Maria Beatrice remained in Sardinia for a while and then moved to Lazio. But the thought of their biological mother never left them.
Fate knocked on our door one day, through the curiosity of Alessandro, Adelia's second son. "One day he said to my husband and me, 'I took a DNA test on MyHeritage, I want to know my ancestry.' My husband and I were amazed; in fact, he was even alarmed, but we let him. He's always been very curious," recalls his mother.
After a month, the results came in: 46% Sardinian, some Chilean, with traces of French and Moroccan. And most importantly, one name: Maria Verónica Soto Toro, listed as a relative at 35%.
It turned out this woman had also taken the same test not long before. I immediately had a good feeling, but also a lot of fear. We immediately went looking for her on Facebook. When I saw her, it was like looking in the mirror. I started crying. But I didn't have the courage to write to her; I was afraid it was an illusion. Eventually, however, Adelia, encouraged by her husband and children, found the strength to send that message. "I told her my name was Adelia, that as a child I was called Valesca, that I was born on April 26, 1979 in Santiago, adopted by Italian parents, and that I had a twin sister. She immediately replied: 'I'm your mother. I can't believe it.'" It was March 14th. A few minutes later, the video call: a screen lit up, eyes locked, immediate recognition. "It was as if she recognized me immediately by my face. At first, we couldn't speak; we cried so much like little girls."
Since last spring and until a few days ago, video calls had become a daily occurrence, filled with emotions and stories. Then the decision to leave: Adelia and Maria Beatrice took a plane to Santiago, Chile, with the help of the mayor of Maria Verónica's town and an association that provided them with tickets.
Wednesday evening, they were embraced at the Santiago airport. But it wasn't just their mother who was waiting for them, but an entire family: blood siblings, two younger half-siblings, cousins, nieces, and many family friends. "It was our first time in Chile; we thought we'd receive love, but what we found was double, triple. We weren't expecting it; everyone knew our story and everyone was rooting for this reunion; they knew our mother had always looked for us," says Adelia.
Their story is not an isolated one. During the years of Pinochet's dictatorship, hundreds of children were taken from their families under the pretext of poverty and placed for adoption abroad in an irregular manner .
Today they are known as the "children of silence." Many of them ended up in Italy. Maria Verónica, however, never gave up. She always knew her daughters were alive and, doggedly, continued to search for them. "She was sure we were in Italy, because at that time, so many children were sold there, but coming back for us was difficult, impossible," says Adelia.
Her gaze is still fixed on the future. "We'd like Mom to come to Italy, maybe as early as Christmas." Adelia, meanwhile, hasn't forgotten where she grew up and returns to Escalaplano whenever she can to greet her relatives and many friends who remain. But when she talks about meeting her mother, her eyes light up: "A unique emotion, a gift that my sister and I truly never thought we'd experience."