Your.

Father.

Is.

Dead.

Ten minutes since Antonio's mother had said those words. Ten minutes since he'd found out his father had passed away. Ten minutes in which he sat in the hospital chair, quiet and unmoving.

His silence confused his mother. She'd expected him to cry, to collapse, to shout, to run over to the hospital room in which his father lay. To do anything. But he did nothing.

"Eet was a heart attack," she tenderly spoke, breaking the silence.

Still, Antonio remained silent, the only sound escaping his quiet breaths. His mother stared at him, now becoming worried by his reaction, or lack thereof.

"Izz not that uncommon with age. They said he was driving home from work when zee heart attack happened. Eet was very random, likely caused from stress. Work stress, home stress, things like that."

After saying that, she curiously stared at Antonio, perhaps hoping he would speak. Maybe tell her, yeah, I noticed he'd seemed a little stressed lately. But how could he? His father was barely ever home, and when he was, Antonio preferred not to speak to him. All of this was probably just as shocking to him as it was to his mother.

"Ze heart attack, it caused him to lose his vision while he was driving. So he got in a wreck. Crashed into a tree," she continued in a forlorn tone.

She gingerly placed a hand on Antonio's arm. His lips ever so slightly twitched, almost into a frown. It was as if he wanted to pull away from his mother's touch, yet he was also strangely comforted by it.

"His death, eet was quick. Not very painful," she went on, trying to console him. "I'm sorry. I wish I could tell you more, but I only get here recently."

"Why are you here?" Antonio finally broke the silence, facing his mother with narrowed eyes and removing his arm from her.

She looked momentarily stunned by his hostility. "Your father, he list me as his emergency contact. I not sure why. After all, I not hear from either of you in years."

"Yeah? And whose fault is that?" Antonio snapped, suddenly standing up.

A frown graced his mother's lips, and she shifted uncomfortably as she stared up at him. "Antonio, I know this difficult for you, and I know you wish you had been there for your father. But I'm sure he knew how much you love him."

I knew she believed those words would comfort Antonio, but they did the opposite. She was so painfully oblivious to the dynamic between him and his father. It was yet another reminder of how absent she'd been in Antonio's life, and how little she knew about him.

"Except I didn't. I hated him," Antonio looked his mother in the eyes.

Her mouth dropped open in shock. I suddenly felt like I was intruding on a very private moment.

"How could you say such horrible thing?" She gasped. "Your father–"

"Beat me. Since I was a little boy. Hurt me until I was numb. Stepped on me until I felt like nothing," Antonio sneered. "He got what he deserved."

And with that, he stormed off. I winced at the brutal, yet honest words. I almost went after him, but his mother's quiet sniffles made me frown and stay put. The front desk lady seemed awfully used to this, and I had to remind myself that this was a hospital–she likely knew how to tune out the sound of people fighting and crying.

I wasn't quite sure what to do and settled for an awkward pat on her shoulder. Antonio's mother froze at my touch and glanced at me with wide, teary eyes.

"Iz eet true?" she hesitantly asked me. "His father abused him?"

She held her breath, clinging onto the hope that it was a lie. That I would tell her, no, Antonio's father never hurt him. But deep down, she didn't need me to answer her question. She knew he was telling the truth. And so I silently nodded. She burst into tears and looked away from me.

"I didn't know," she murmured, shaking her head. Regret.

"Well how could you?" I weakly asked. "You were never there."

She thickly swallowed and looked up at the ceiling. "I know. I wish I would've fought harder. I wish he never forced me to leave."

I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion. "What do you mean? You were forced to leave?"

Her simple nod caused my mouth to drop open in shock, meanwhile she went on to explain to me.

"Antonio's father and I had a, what do they call it, one night sit?"

"One night stand."

"Close enough," she waved off. "I had just immigrated to America in my twenties. I was foolish girl with big dreams. Antonio's father had met me at bar. He was very handsome. Charming too," she looked almost wistful and shook her head. "Anyway, one thing lead to other. I thought I would never see him again after that, but I fall pregnant. It was accident yes, but I believed it was blessing. Doctors, they told me I was infertile. To know that I had gotten pregnant after years of thinking not possible, it was miracle!"

I knew the story was going to take a turn from the way she shakily sighed. "Antonio's father, he wanted me to get abortion. See, I was poor girl, he was wealthy man. He said child out of wedlock is shameful–embarrassing. I disagree. We fought for weeks. He hurt me many times, threatened me, even," her eyes began to water. "I tried to get help, but he had power. Friends, they would call me crazy. You should be happy man like that even look your way, they said. When I gave birth, he paid me to leave. Move back to Italy and never look back, so I did. I lived every day in regret every since, but I too afraid to come back. He hurt me too much. I just never thought he'd hurt our son too."

I didn't realize I'd been holding my breath until she finished her side of the story. It was of great contrast to what Antonio's father had told him, and I felt my heart twinge in sympathy.

Antonio's mother had been victim to his father's abuse and mistreatment, much like Antonio himself. And yes, while she had made the wrong decision to leave Antonio years ago, she was owning up to her mistakes. I was beginning to view her in a different light.

"What's your name, dolcezza?" his mother quietly asked after a moment.

"Rose," I softly responded.

"I can see the way my son looks at you. I know you two are close," she looked at me almost pleadingly. "So tell me, Rose. Do you think I'm too late? Will Antonio ever be able to forgive me?"

Seventeen years had gone by. Was she too late? It was a question only Antonio could answer.

"You'll have to ask him yourself," I said gently, watching as she hung onto my every word. "Antonio has been through so much–more than most others could handle. He's the most strong, most brave person I know. While I do hope he can forgive you, I'll also understand if he can't."

The woman nodded understandingly, then lent out a hand for me to shake.

"It's Sofia," she finally introduced.

I briefly smiled, now that I was able to put a name to the face.

"Rose," I said back, even though she already knew.

Sofia warmly smiled back, a tear slipping down her cheek. "My son is lucky to have you in his life."

I looked down at my lap, my cheeks faintly warming. "Funny. I would say it's the other way around."

• • •