"She's one," Paola marveled, watching our daughter toddle around, getting steadier on her feet every day. "How is she already one?"
"I ask myself that every morning."
This year. Sleepless nights that blurred together. Her first smile at six weeks. First laugh at three months. Rolling over, sitting up, crawling, those first wobbly steps last month. Every milestone celebrated, photographed, treasured.
The fastest year of my life. The best year of my life.
Piero arrived first, arms loaded with wrapped boxes.
"Uncle Piero!" Lucia shrieked, recognizing him.
"There's my favorite girl!" He scooped her up, tossed her gently in the air. She giggled—that deep belly laugh that made everyone smile. "Happy birthday, Lucia. I may have gone overboard with presents."
"May have?" The pile was enormous.
"I'm the fun uncle. This is my job."
Anna arrived with flowers and homemade cookies. Giovanni came bearing another handcrafted gift—a wooden dollhouse this time, intricate and beautiful.
"Papa," Paola said, hugging him. "You didn't have to—"
"I wanted to. She's my granddaughter." His eyes were already misty.
The penthouse filled with family, friends, laughter. Lucia was in heaven—center of attention, being passed from person to person, soaking up the love.
Then, mid-party, an unexpected knock.
I opened the door to find Matteo standing there.
Thinner than I remembered. Older. Changed.
"Cesare. I know I wasn't invited. I can leave. I just—" He held out a small wrapped package. "I wanted to bring this. For Lucia."
Eighteen months since I'd visited him in prison. Eighteen months of therapy, programs, work.
"You're out," I said.
"Released yesterday. Good behavior. Completed every program they offered." He looked past me into the penthouse, nervous. "I should go. I just wanted—"
"Come in," I decided. "Meet her."
His relief was palpable. "Really?"
"Don't make me regret it."
Inside, Piero saw Matteo and froze. The room went quiet.
"Matteo's here to meet Lucia," I announced. "He's staying."
Piero's jaw was tight, but he nodded once. Acceptance, if not forgiveness.
Matteo approached where Paola held Lucia, who was eyeing him with curiosity. "Hi, Lucia," he said softly. "I'm—I'm your Uncle Matteo. Happy birthday."
He opened the gift—a hand-carved wooden puzzle, simple shapes, beautifully made.
"I made it in the prison workshop," he explained. "Wanted her to have something from me."
Paola's expression softened. "It's beautiful. Thank you."
