GABRIELE FERRARI
I am quietly sitting as I watch both Fiorella and Massimo eat their meal. I am not starring too much for them to feel my eyes boring into them, but I am looking at them with admiration. We are sitting at McDonald’s fast-food chain because I felt the need to make it up to our son for being late. He was sad because his best friend had already left then, and he did not want to play with anyone else but frown the whole time until we got to his school. He is in a lighter mood now because he is having a happy meal and got a toy, but I think that he is happier because I am back home.
“Babe,” Fiorella puts her hand on mine.
“Yes, my love?” I respond.
“Are you okay?” She concernedly asks.
I am not okay. I am looking at our son right now and he looks like our old us, babe.
