Vico has spotted him too.
I sense him holding his breath.
"What…?" he whispers tonelessly.
I know the question dominating his thoughts, but I don't know the answer. I've never witnessed Vico's father leave his worn-out leather armchair on his own initiative. And now, he steps into the garden, albeit with unsteady steps, but clearly under his own power, and surveys the scene.
Nostalgia and sadness dominate his expression. Slowly, he makes his way toward us and finally stands quietly beside us. I link my arm with his and squeeze his hand.
Together, we gaze at the olive grove. Together, we breathe in the scent of the new era we are embarking on.
Suddenly, he turns his head and looks directly at both of us. I don't know what to do, and I think Vico feels the same. So it remains as it is. We look at each other, trying to decipher the unspoken words in our faces.
Not yet, perhaps.
His lips tremble, as does his thinning hair. Then he slightly lifts the corners of his mouth.
He nods at us. Just once, and so faintly that I can barely discern it. Yet I'm sure he did it. And I believe I know what it means.
Moved, I reach for Vico's hand, our fingers entwining.
I feel our affection.
Our hope.
And that one truth that nobody can take away from us.
Our path may still be long, but we'll navigate it with certainty.
None of us will ever forget that life is meant to be enjoyed. Because deep inside, we know that loving with all our hearts is the best thing we can do. We will never stop seeing our wishes in the most beautiful colors of this world.
