"Thank you," Matteo said, voice breaking. "For letting me be here. For this chance. I won't waste it."
After a few minutes, he left—understanding not to overstay, grateful to have been included at all.
"That was kind," Paola said later. "Letting him come."
"Lucia should know that people can change. That second chances exist."
"Even for people who betray us?"
"Especially for them."
Cake time was chaos. We sang "Happy Birthday" whilst Lucia clapped along, delighted.
Then we let her at the cake.
She destroyed it. Hands diving in, frosting everywhere—in her hair, on her face, smeared across the high chair tray.
Pure joy on her frosting-covered face.
Photos were taken. Presents opened—though Lucia was more interested in boxes than toys. Piero played with her on the floor. Giovanni read her a book. Anna took a million pictures.
Perfect.
By early evening, guests started leaving. Hugs, promises to visit soon.
Lucia waved "bye-bye" to everyone, exhausted but happy.
Bath time was necessary after the cake massacre. Paola and I tag-teamed—washing frosting out of her hair, getting her into pajamas, giving her a bottle.
She fell asleep in my arms halfway through, milk-drunk and content.
We put her in her crib together, stood watching her sleep.
"Best party ever," Paola whispered.
"She won't remember it."
"We will."
Later, after the penthouse was cleaned, after Lucia had been asleep for hours, Paola and I finally collapsed on the couch.
"A year," she said. "We survived a whole year of parenthood."
"Barely."
"But we did it."
I pulled her close. "We did. Together."
She shifted, straddling my lap, her eyes dark with want I recognized. "We haven't had much alone time lately."
"No. We haven't."
"Lucia's asleep. Solidly. She won't wake for hours."
"Probably not."
"So we should take advantage." Her lips found my neck. "Celebrate. Just us."
