“Mommy? Are you there?”
I smiled, unable to hold back a soft, resigned laugh as I walked to the door.
“Mommy’s coming, sweetheart. Just a second!”
Clara stood there holding a pillow much too big for her small body, her favorite teddy tucked under her arm. Her eyes were heavy with sleep, her face adorably rumpled, and she immediately made an impatient little face.
“Why did you take so long, Mommy? I was already falling asleep standing up!”
I laughed softly, stroking her hair as I let her into the room.
“Sorry, sweetheart. Mommy was just talking to Daddy.”
She cast a suspicious glance toward the bed, where Enrico now sat wearing an expression of complete innocence, as if nothing at all had happened moments earlier.
“Daddy looks funny,” she announced bluntly, approaching him with a critical stare.
Enrico blinked a few times, caught by her perceptiveness, then plastered on an exaggerated smile as he gently pulled her into his lap.
“Funny? Me? Imagine that, princess. I was just waiting for you so we could sleep.”
Clara didn’t seem fully convinced, but she quickly forgot her suspicion as she cuddled against her father’s chest.
“I brought our favorite book for you to read to me tonight, Daddy,” she said happily, showing him a well-worn picture book filled with princesses and dragons.
Enrico’s expression softened instantly as he took the book, his eyes glowing with tenderness.
“Anything you want, my love,” he said warmly, stroking her dark hair. “Lie down here and I’ll read to you.”
Clara settled beside him immediately. I sat down next to my daughter, my heart overflowing as I watched the scene unfold: Enrico holding the book carefully, his calm, gentle voice filling the room while Clara listened, her eyes shining with enchantment.
My gaze met Enrico’s as he read to our daughter, and the silent intensity of that moment made my heart race again—for an entirely different reason.
He gave me a discreet smile before turning back to the book, while Clara slowly drifted off to sleep, safe and happy between us.
That moment—unexpected, interrupted, imperfect—was perfect exactly as it was.
And something inside me knew that nights like that, interrupted or not, were exactly what I wanted for the rest of my life.
SIXTY-FIVE
VALENTINA FERRARA
Alice’s office had always carried something that brought an immediate sense of calm, with its light, welcoming décor.
We were seated in the soft armchairs across from her, a gentle silence settling between us for a few moments after we finished telling her about the revealing conversation we’d had with Clara—about Enrico being her father.
Alice listened attentively, her eyes reflecting understanding and empathy as we spoke.
“Well, first of all,” she began gently, offering us a reassuring smile, “I want to say that you did exactly the right thing. You respected Clara’s timing and her emotional capacity, and that is essential. Children perceive the emotions around them long before they’re able to put things into words.”
Enrico let out a slow breath, visibly relieved by the psychologist’s validation.
“I’ll admit I was caught off guard when she asked so directly,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting that question at that moment.”
Alice nodded with understanding.
“That’s very common with children. They’re remarkably perceptive when something important is happening. Clara had probably already sensed—on some level—that Enrico was more than just a friend or an uncle, and that there was something different between the two of you. She just needed time to put all the pieces together before asking.”
