My God, did he fuck her too?
I don't want to dwell on that question as I force myself to seem normal.
"There was a shooting gone wrong. He's fine for now," I explain a little, all the while my eyes are focused on the boy in the background who is looking at me curiously.
"You can take a lunch break while I sit with Luca. I won't belong," I make up some other commitment, knowing that Chiara would never spend too much time with a child.
"I don't know…" she looks between the two of us. "Signor Enzo told me to always sit with Luca, even when you're home," she continues, looking conflicted.
"Just a quarter of an hour. I won't mention it if you won't," I attempt a smile, begging the gods for a miracle.
"I guess I could take an earlier lunch break," she finally relents and pushes the door wider for me to go in. "I'll come back in fifteen."
A mere fifteen minutes, but it will be the happiest fifteen minutes of my life.
"Hi, Luca," I say, struggling to crouch on the floor. My legs feel wooden as I will them to bend properly, the strain of walking without a cane already taking a toll on me.
"Hi," he says in a small voice, clutching a small Lego piece to his chest.
"What are you building?" I motion to the foundation he's already built.
"A replica of the house," he answers shyly, lowering his chin to gaze anywhere but at me. He's behaving as if I'm a stranger…
"Luca, do you know who I am?" I ask, wanting to know how much to torture Chiara before her death for usurping my place so shamelessly…for taking my child.
"Yes," he whispers, red spreading from his neck to his cheeks. "You're mymamma. Butpapasays I shouldn't call you that." That small admission breaks my heart.
I may feel sorry for myself for not being there for my baby's first years of life, but what of him? What of the boy who didn't have a mother? Because I'm sure Chiara is as motherly as a viper.
"You can call memammaif you want. It will be our little secret," I say, greedy to hear that one word I'd waited for so long.I'd imagined him calling me that ever since he was in my womb. I'd spend my nights with my hand on my bump, picturing holding my little one in my arms.
"Really?" He still seems unsure, so I assure him that he can, but only if he's comfortable.
"Okay,mamma," he gives me a timid smile, and I try to blink the tears away, failing utterly.
"Why are you crying?" he asks, quickly rising from his seat and coming toward me. He's standing in front of me, his small brows wiggling in confusion. "Are you sad?"
I shake my head. How could I ever explain to him what this moment means to me?
"I'm happy," I say, smiling through my tears. "So, so very happy. And you know why?"
He shakes his head, still looking at me with his big, luminous eyes.
"Because Luca's here, next to me. And that makes me very happy," I tell him, my hands trembling in my lap with a need to touch him, my eyes still leaking like a waterfall.
"But you're crying." He frowns at me. "I only cry when I'm hurt," he states solemnly.
"Sometimes, people also cry when they're happy."
"Do you need a hug then? Papa always says hugs take the hurt away. But if you're not hurt…" he trails off, visibly confused.
"I'd love a hug, Luca. If you want to give me one," I quickly respond, amazed at the opportunity in front of me. I hold out my arms for him to hug me, anticipation building inside me.
His lips stretch into a smile and he effortlessly slides between my arms, his tiny ones wrapping around my rib cage as he places his head on my chest.
The last time I felt him this close was when he was suckling at my breast.
I close my arms around him, grasping him to my chest and putting all my love into this hug. One hand goes higher, cupping his head so I can lay a kiss on his forehead.
