My name is Matteo. I grew up thinking my family was simple and loving — a little sanctuary of warmth.

My parents, Clara and Lorenzo, seemed inseparable in my childlike eyes. He ran a small mechanic shop in our quiet Tuscan village, Borgo San Vito. My mother stayed home with me, their only child. I believed our world would always remain whole.

But everything changed suddenly. Dad lost his job, and with it, the light in our home dimmed.

He found other work, but money slipped through our fingers. I heard shouting at night, plates breaking, voices shaking the walls. I hid under my blankets, wishing it all away.

Then came the worst — Dad discovered Mom had been seeing another man. Their final fight ended with the door slamming behind him. He left.

I missed him terribly, begged Mom to let me see him, but she always snapped, “It’s his fault, Matteo! He abandoned us!”

One morning, she woke me with unusual cheer. “Pack your things, sweetheart, we’re going to the sea!”

I was thrilled. As she stuffed clothes into a suitcase, I tried to bring my toy trains. She stopped me.

“We’ll get new ones there — better ones.”

I believed her. She was my mother.

At the bus station, she bought tickets, then said we needed to make a quick stop. We got off in front of a crumbling building.

“Wait here, Matteo. I’m getting you ice cream. Don’t move.”

I waited. One hour. Two. The sun set, cold crept in, fear sank its claws into me. I cried out for her, but she never returned. I fell asleep on the bench, cold and alone.

When I woke, I was in a warm bed. I called out, “Mom?”

The door opened — it was my father. Behind him stood a woman I didn’t know.

“Where’s Mom?” I asked, panic rising. “She went to get ice cream… and never came back.”

Dad sat beside me and held my hand.