I grab my hoodie from the armchair, accidentally pushing my book off the edge. It drops to the floor and lands half under the chair. When I reach for it, my hand bumps against something hard, a black box. Since my curiosity is piqued, I drag it out.
The lid is slightly dusty, and I gently lift it to peek inside. I’m not sure what I expected, but it definitely wasn’t photos. Dozens, maybe hundreds, of them. Sitting on the floor, I pull the box on my lap to get a better look. My fingers brush over what is unmistakably a younger version of Matteo. A handsome teenage Matteo. An adorable toddler Matteo. A ridiculously cute Matteo at various ages.
One photo catches my eye, and I pick it up. Matteo’s father can’t be much older than Matteo is now, the two of them almost passing as twins. The huge grin on his face is directed at his family, especially at Matteo’s face that’s covered in something, and a young version of Luna who’s laughing hysterically. The woman next to the kids glances at them with the same amused expression. But it’s more than that, her gaze is adoring, like these kids, this family, are her world. After studying her more closely, it’s easy to spot traces of Luna, especially the way her lips curve and her eyes shine.
Without a doubt, this family loves each other. It’s so obvious in their beaming faces and the parents’ affectionate touches on the children’s shoulders and arms.
A sharp pain pierces my chest, robbing me of my breath.
“Luna’s always been a nutcase.”
I shriek, the voice behind me startling me so much that the box slides off my legs, tumbling to the floor, the contents spilling all over the carpet.
With a hand pressed to my racing heart, I stare up at Matteo.
But his gaze isn’t on me, it’s on the picture still in my hand.
I clear my throat awkwardly and swallow. “Sorry, I . . . uh, my book dropped, and I found the box under the chair.”
“I forgot it was there.”
I nod like that makes total sense.
He crouches and reaches for the photo, his fingers brushing along mine as he takes it. “Every year before Christmas, we’d bake cookies together. It was my favorite time of the year. That time, Luna thought it was hilarious to smack some dough in my face.”
The expression on Matteo’s face, his soft eyes and the way the corners of his mouth gently turn up, is so different from anything I’ve ever seen on him before that I don’t dare make a sound.
I reach the point where I can’t hold my breath any longer and ask him the question I’m positive I already know the answer to. “Is that your mom?”
“She was an amazing woman.”
His gaze finds mine then, and I’m sure he can see the million questions in my eyes.
“She got cancer and died when I was sixteen.”
My breath catches in my throat. He lost his mother as a teenager, just like me.
But unlike me, he was loved, still is loved, by his family, his father.
Matteo picks up another happy family photo, and the ache in my chest grows. I drag my gaze away from him as a memory from my own childhood pops up in my brain. A memory of a time when I was younger and thought I might finally have a sibling because my mom was pregnant. But a few weeks later, she lost the baby. What I didn’t understand back then was that it wasn’t her first miscarriage. What I also didn’t understand until much later was the meaning of the terms incomplete miscarriage, uterus infection, and hysterectomy.
My mind jumps back in time to that dreadful day at the hospital. My mom had been sick for a while after having a terrible infection that ultimately led to her hysterectomy. My dad had sent me away to get a drink, and just as I came back, his loud voice carried into the hallway through the slightly ajar door.
“I think I’ve been more than patient with you, Maria, even though it wasn’t easy for me to watch you lose baby after baby. And now you’re telling me you can’t have any children at all anymore? What about my heir?”
My mom’s voice was weak as she answered, “You have Gemma.”
My dad scoffed. “You think I’d hand over my business to a daughter? You’re both useless to me.”
Hearing my mom’s sniffles that followed my father’s cruel words, twisted my heart in a way nothing before ever had. A minute later, my dad opened the door, gave me a disapproving glare, and left.
Everything changed that day. Before, my dad wasn’t exactly the nice and heartwarming man you see portrayed in a lot of TV shows and movies, but we shared some meals and were together on special occasions. But from that moment at the hospital on, I barely saw him. My mom kept telling me he loved me, that he was just incredibly busy with work. She said that maybe if we could show him that I can be exactly the daughter he needs me to be, he’d spend some more time with us again.
She started crying then, and I promised her I’d help her. There was nothing I wanted more than to see my mom smile again. But she never did, not like she used to. All I could do was love her as much as I could and keep my promise because she was everything to me.
Something touches my arm, and I flinch away, staring straight into Matteo’s questioning gaze. “Hey, you okay?”
I blink a few times and nod, noting the mess I made of the photos is cleaned up, the box pushed neatly back in its hiding spot.