My name is Matteo, and I grew up in a family that, through the eyes of my child self, seemed simple—a fragile refuge filled with love and warmth. My mother, Clara, and my father, Lorenzo, appeared inseparable—or at least that’s how I saw them in my innocent childhood. Dad ran a small workshop in a quiet village called Borgo San Vito, nestled in the hills of Tuscany, while Mom stayed home to take care of me. I was their only child, and back then, I believed our little world would remain unbroken forever.
But then came the day everything fell apart, as if a lightning bolt had split our life in two. Dad was fired without warning. I didn’t understand what that meant at the time, but I could see how he changed: his laughter faded, replaced by a heavy, oppressive silence. He quickly found another job, but the money began to slip away from our home like leaves blown away by the autumn wind. At night, I would hear Mom screaming at Dad, the sound of plates shattering marking their arguments. Their voices echoed through our little house like thunder, and I would hide under the blankets, trembling, praying for the storm to end.
Then came the blow that destroyed everything. Dad found out that Mom had been secretly meeting with a stranger. Our home turned into a battlefield: screams tore through the air, tears flooded the floor, and the door slammed with a deafening crash when Dad left, leaving me with Mom among the wreckage. I missed him so much that the pain broke my chest. I begged Mom to take me to him, but she angrily replied, “It’s his fault, Matteo! He abandoned us—he’s a disgusting man!” Her words cut me like knives, but they couldn’t silence my desperate desire to have my father back.
One cold morning, Mom came to me with a smile I hadn’t seen in a long time—a faint shadow of the happy days. “Pack your things, sweetie, we’re going to the sea!” she said. My heart leaped in my chest—the sea! It felt like a dream I never dared to imagine. She was already packing clothes into an old, worn-out suitcase. I wanted to bring my toy trains, but she stopped me: “We’ll buy new ones there—much nicer ones.” I believed her—how could I not trust her? She was my mother, my unshakable pillar.
We arrived at the bus station, a chaotic blur of noise and haste. Mom bought the tickets, then said we had some time and needed to take a small detour. We boarded an old, creaky bus that bounced over every pothole. I looked out the dirty window, dreaming of waves and sandcastles I would build. Eventually, we stopped in front of a dilapidated building, its walls chipped and windows dull. Mom pointed to a bench near the entrance. “Wait for me here, Matteo. I’m going to get an ice cream—stay here and don’t move.” I nodded, sat on the cold wooden bench, and watched her disappear inside the building.
Time passed with agonizing slowness. An hour passed, then another. Mom didn’t return. The sun set, the wind turned biting, and fear gripped my throat like a vice. I scanned the strange windows that lit up one by one, hoping to see her with an ice cream in hand. But she wasn’t there. Darkness enveloped the courtyard like a suffocating shroud, and I, a child abandoned, was left alone. Tears burned down my cheeks as I called for her, but my voice was swallowed by the silence of the night. Exhausted by terror and cold, I curled up on the bench and fell asleep.
I woke up not outside, but in a warm bed. I opened my eyes—the room was unfamiliar, bare, and alien. For a moment, I thought Mom had come to get me and brought me here. “Mom!” I shouted, but the door opened and… Dad walked in. Behind him was a woman I had never seen. I jumped up, my heart pounding in my chest. “Dad! Where’s Mom? She went to get an ice cream and disappeared! What happened?”
Dad sat beside me, his face rigid, marked by silent pain. He took my hand and spoke words that etched themselves into my soul: “Matteo, your mother abandoned you. She’s gone and she’s not coming back.” Those words struck me like thunder. Abandoned? It was unthinkable—mothers don’t do such things! I cried out, insisting it was a lie, that she had promised me the sea, but Dad held me tighter and repeated, “She’s not coming back, my son.” It was a cruel, naked, and merciless truth.
Years passed. Dad and I moved to Positano, a village by the coast where the sea roared endlessly against the cliffs. The woman with him was named Giulia. She was kind, though at first, I kept my distance. Over time, I began to call her Mom—not the one who had betrayed me, but a real mother who took care of me. A little sister, Sofia, was born, and for the first time, I knew what it meant to have a real family—warm, quiet, with no shouting or betrayal.
As I grew older, Dad told me more. Mom had called him the morning after leaving me on the bench, her voice cold, telling him where to find me before hanging up. Her parental rights were revoked, and I had no idea where she had run off to. Life went on: we moved to a bigger house, I went to school, then university. I excelled in my studies, graduated with honors, and found a good job. My salary grew, and I decided it was time to have a place of my own. Dad and Giulia helped me buy a small apartment in the heart of Positano.
One stormy evening, returning from work, I saw a figure on a bench in front of my building—an eerie echo from my childhood. She looked up and whispered, “Matteo.” I froze. “I’m your mother,” she added, her voice trembling. I stared at her, a stranger aged with time, my mind in turmoil: “Why now? After all these years?” I took out my phone and called Dad and Giulia.
They arrived in a flash, their presence banishing the panic. Dad said, “It’s up to you, son—if she deserves a place in your life.” I looked at her—the woman who had left me alone in that cold night—and felt nothing but an abyss of emptiness. The doorbell rang, breaking the silence; Dad went to open it, and she followed him inside. I exploded: “You’re not my mother. I have a mom and a dad—the ones who raised me, who were with me when you ran away. I don’t know you, and I don’t want to hear your excuses. Leave and don’t come back, or I’ll call the police.” She burst into tears, but I remained resolute. She left, and I watched her disappear into the darkness.
I turned to Dad and Giulia, hugged them with all the strength I had. “I love you,” I said, my voice breaking with emotion. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me.” They were my family, my salvation among the ruins. That woman? Just a ghost from a nightmare I had long overcome.
Don’t abandon your children. They didn’t ask to come into this world—you put them here, and they deserve love and protection. I, Matteo, know this better than anyone.