“Look, Mommy! It’s so stretchy!” he exclaims, his laughter spilling out like sunlight, drawing a few smiles from the neighboring tables.
I can’t help but grin as I watch him swing his legs under the table, his sneakers tapping out a rhythm against the chair. His joy is infectious, a reminder that even the simplest moments can feel monumental when shared with him.
My own plate holds a vibrant salad—arugula, sun-ripened tomatoes, slivers of fennel, and shaved Parmesan. The colors are cheerful, but my appetite is slow to catch up. I poke at a cherry tomato with my fork, trying to muster enthusiasm, but my focus keeps drifting back to Leo.
He leans forward to take another bite, a dollop of sauce landing on his chin. “Oops!”
I chuckle and reach over with a napkin, dabbing it away as he wriggles in protest.
“You’re a mess,” I tease.
“Messy is fun!” he declares, grabbing another slice.
For a while, it’s just the two of us, wrapped in the uncomplicated joy of sharing a meal, and I wish with all my heart that this kind of peace could last forever.
But it doesn’t.
Across the room, a young couple catches my eye. They’re leaning close, her head tilted back in laughter as he reaches across the table to touch her hand. It’s innocent, simple, but it hits at the rawest, most vulnerable part of me.
“Mommy, you’re not eating,” Leo says, pulling me from my thoughts.
“I’m fine, baby,” I reply, forcing a smile. “Just thinking.”
He nods solemnly, as if he understands far more than he lets on, and takes another bite of his pizza.
By the time we get home, the sun has started its slow descent, casting a golden glow over the small garden outside our house. Leo runs ahead, giggling as he tries to catch one of the butterflies fluttering between the flowers.
“Don’t trample the basil!” I call after him, laughing despite myself.
We spend the afternoon baking cookies and painting on the patio, his little hands smudged with flour and streaked with blue and green. He chatters endlessly, his stories and questions filling the house with a warmth I cling to like a lifeline.
As bedtime nears, he curls up next to me on the couch, his favorite book in hand. His head rests against my arm as I read, his breathing slowing as he drifts closer to sleep.
“Mommy?” he murmurs, his voice heavy with drowsiness.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Will Daddy ever come for us?”
The question makes my heart clench, and for a moment, I can’t answer. I brush his hair back gently, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
“Of course,” I say softly.
He doesn’t respond, already lost to his dreams, and I sit there for a long time, watching him sleep.
The house is quiet after Leo drifts off to sleep, his little chest rising and falling in the soft glow of his nightlight. I linger by his door, my fingers curling around the frame as a war rages inside me.
My head tells me to stay right here, to bury the card Luca handed me at the bottom of the trash. But my chest tightens withthe memory of his voice, his touch, and the way his eyes bore into mine like they could strip every lie from my soul.
I make my decision before I can think better of it. I grab my phone and dial.
“Isabella?” My voice is just above a whisper.
“Oh, Valentina!” Her warm, cheerful voice cuts through the knot in my stomach. “How’s my favorite little man doing?”
“He’s already asleep. Listen, I need to step out for a few hours. Would you mind staying over? I’ll be back before midnight.”
“Of course,” she says without hesitation. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
