Chapter 12 - THE BABY WHO CALLED ME MAMA
Luca's first word came on a rainy afternoon.
I was sitting on the nursery floor stacking wooden blocks.
He crawled toward me.
Pulled himself upright.
And smiled.
"Mama."
I froze.
Dante stood in the doorway.
He heard it too.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Luca reached for me.
"Mama."
My eyes filled.
I looked at Dante.
"I'm sorry."
He shook his head.
"Don't apologize."
I swallowed.
"He doesn't understand."
Dante walked closer.
"He's learning words. He associates you with comfort."
I nodded.
"But I don't want him to forget Isabella."
Dante knelt beside us.
"He won't."
He looked at Luca.
"We'll tell him about her."
I smiled through tears.
"Every day."
Dante nodded.
"Every day."
That evening, we sat in Isabella's library.
Dante showed me photographs from their wedding.
Their honeymoon.
The day Luca was born.
I listened.
Asked questions.
Learned about the woman who had been my sister.
She loved classical music.
Hated olives.
Collected old postcards.
And cried during animated movies.
I laughed.
"I hate olives too."
Dante smiled.
"She would have loved that."
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For the first time, talking about Isabella didn't feel like opening a wound.
It felt like keeping her alive.
