PART 4 – The Mother I Never Knew
I hadn't closed my eyes all night. The letter from Teresa, or rather Elena, was on the nightstand next to the bed. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that last sentence again: "Your mother, Elena." My mind tried to deny everything. I wanted to believe a mistake had been made. That two stories had mixed by chance. But my heart felt something else. There had been little things I hadn't understood.
The way Teresa pronounced my name. The way she always asked if I was taking care of myself. As if she weren't just curious, but as if she had waited years to be able to ask me. The next morning I went back to Daniel. I had no idea what to say to her—to him. How do you tell someone that the woman they considered their mother all their life might also be the woman who lost me one day?
When I arrived at Daniel's, I immediately understood that he hadn't slept either. He opened the door with a tired smile and let me in. Without too many words he placed a pile of old documents on the table. "I looked at everything I found tonight," he said. "Letters, photos, old papers." My eyes moved to the pile. "And?" I asked cautiously. Daniel took a deep breath.
"My mother never lied to me about her past. But she hid things." He picked up an old photo. In the photo was a young woman holding a baby in her arms. My breath caught when I saw it. "This is my mother," Daniel said softly. "And that baby..." I didn't have to finish the sentence. I already knew. The baby had the same small birthmark on the cheek that I had. A detail I only knew because I saw it every morning in the mirror.
Daniel sat down. "I thought all my life that my mother suffered only because of her youth. I didn't know she had lost someone." I looked at the photo. "Why did she never look for me?" My voice sounded different than I expected. Not angry. More sad. Daniel looked at me. "Maybe she did." He pointed to a box next to him. "I found this this morning." In the box were dozens of letters. Some had never been sent. Others had come back. On almost every envelope the same name was written. Paolo. My hands started to shake when I saw them. For years this woman had tried to find me. And for years I never knew anyone in the world was looking for me.
I opened one of the letters. The date went back almost twenty years. The first sentence took my breath away. "My dear Paolo, I don't know if you will ever know I exist." I continued to read slowly. Elena wrote that at a young age she had been forced to make a difficult decision. She had no money, no support, and no way to take care of her son the way she wanted to.
A relative had convinced her it would be better if the boy went somewhere else temporarily. But that temporary solution had ended up becoming a decades-long goodbye. She wrote that she remembered every son's birthday. That every year she lit a small candle. That she always wondered if he was happy. If he was doing well. If someone told him he was loved.
I put the letter down and felt tears run down my face. All my life I thought I was a man without questions about my origins. I had never looked for a mother I had never known. I had never felt anything was missing. But now I understood why Teresa's voice had felt so familiar to me. Certain bonds perhaps disappear from life, but not always from the heart. Daniel sat in silence opposite me. After a while he said, "Paolo, there's something else you need to know." I looked up. "What?" He pulled a small key from the box. "It was with the last letter." "Of what?" I asked. Daniel looked at the key in his hand. "My mother left something. Something she wanted to give only to you."
That afternoon we went together to Teresa's old house. The house looked quiet. As if time had slowed down there. Daniel opened a closet in his bedroom and pulled out a small wooden box. The key fit perfectly. I felt my heart beat faster when I opened the lock. Inside there was no jewelry. No money. No valuables. Just old photos, a small baby blanket, and a letter with my name on it. This letter was different from the others. It was shorter. The outside contained only one sentence: "For Paolo, when he finally knows why I wanted to hear him every morning." I looked at Daniel. My hands shook as they opened the letter.
The first words left me breathless: "My dear son, if you read this letter it means I could no longer fulfill my greatest desire on my own. I wanted to see you one more time. Not to take back the past. Not to change your life. But just to tell you that I loved you every day, even on the days when you didn't know I existed." I stopped reading. My eyes blurred. But at the bottom of the letter was one last message. A message that changed everything again.
"Paolo, there is only one reason why I called you every morning at eight. Not just because I wanted to hear your voice... but because I was trying to give you back something you had lost as a child."
And underneath it was written:
"Ask Daniel about the day you disappeared."
