Lucky Boy - Creating Sympathy for Two Different Mothers

Something that I noticed while reading Lucky Boy, especially when I was deep into Part 2, was how much I was responding physically to the events and narration of the story with moments of both external and internal tension. Considering this, I thought about how, in Part 1, I had wondered why it was called "Part I: Soli" when the narration switched between Solimar and Kavya while in "Part II: Kavya" I found myself thinking after many chapters when we would hear next from Solimar's experience and how she would get back to Ignacio.
This brought me further to how the novel itself is organized. In Part 1, while we are introduced to Kavya and her struggle to become pregnant and to become a mother, we are given Soli's journey and how, despite the difficulty and trauma which she experienced on her journey to the North, she found a light in her son that made her "well and truly scared" for the first time since arriving in the US (177). The line just before this describes this perfectly too - "She had awakened, sprouted a new layer of skin, pink and raw and wholly vulnerable" (176). As someone who has never had a child, I can only imagine what it's like to be a mother and experience this kind of love for their child, but Sekaran (it feels so weird to talk about Shanthi formally - is anyone else experiencing this?) uses moments like this throughout Part 1 to convey it to the reader in small, slowly building moments until Soli and Silvia are arrested and taken to the police station. In this moment, the fear that she is experiencing is conveyed through both Soli's repeated and only statement of "my son!" as well as her question of "where is my son?" until it is cemented into us with "her chest an aching drum" mimicking the refrain of her love for Ignacio. This longing and heart sickness carries on then throughout Part 2.
Which would be simple and we would wholeheartedly take the side of Soli through thick and thin except that Part 2 is about Kavya. Within the first chapter of Part 2 (ch. 28), we see Kavya's first interaction with Ignacio. In this moment, we see the same light which Soli experienced the first time she held him with Kavya on the receiving end which makes her fall wholeheartedly in love with him. Throughout this second part, we see her finally getting to be the mother she's wanted to be to a child whom she loves as a mother does. We see her hold him when he's scared and who encourages him in all he does, who wants the best for him and watches him grow. And through all of this there's rarely a moment when, as the reader, we view her and Rishi as people who "think a Mastercard can get them whatever they want" (365) or that they're "baby stealers" (367) as the group of students call them. And yet when Kavya's narration speaks of her obtaining custody, my stomach and body recoiled because of how hard we know that Soli was fighting to get back to Ignacio, her little boy. However, when Soli does come for Ignacio, and Kavya wakes to find that he's been taken, my body also broke for her.
All of this being said, I don't think there was any "right" way for any of the events to have occurred (as in morally right or wrong). It wasn't necessarily right for Kavya to have become so attached or to have let her heart wrap itself so tightly around Ignacio because of the status of his biological mother, and it wasn't necessarily right for Soli to have come in and taken Ignacio in the night. But by structuring and giving focus to the two parts of the novel, Sekaran makes the reader look at the bigger issue of immigration and class and privilege by making us struggle with the experiences of these two women who are both mothers to Ignacio.