During the entire drive, I let Ezio remain in his thoughts. Not wanting to bombard him with questions and risk pushing him away, I prefer to wait for him to calm down and give him time to open up about what happened.

Once we arrive at the apartment, still in silence, we prepare sandwiches for dinner. I quickly finish mine and start to head upstairs to go to bed when Ezio calls out to me.

"May, wait. I owe you an explanation for earlier."

"If you're not ready to talk about it, I'll understand. I don't want you to feel obligated to justify your emotions. You have the right to feel them."

"It's not that I feel obligated. I want to, and I need to, in order to move forward."

With these words, I join him on the couch where he's sitting.

"That music we heard in the store earlier was the same tune my mother used to hum to me while she rocked me to sleep at night."

He clears his throat, already choked up with emotion, then squeezes my hands in his.

"I was very young when my mother passed away; I was only three, but her memory has never left me. I remember her tenderness, her laughter, her kindness. These are like flashes in my mind, bathed in light and warmth, as if I can still feel her love through these memories. A mother's love for her child is indescribable, unmatched, and the bond between a mother and her son is something extraordinary. As I told you, I was only three, yet I could feel all that, feel her infinite love for my brother and me, feel the strength of the bond that united us. Unfortunately, at that age, you don't understand the subtleties of adult emotions. My mother had a zest for life, but she also carried a stormy turmoil within her. She could laugh as much as she could cry on some days. So whenever I saw her in that state, I would bring her flowers. Lilies, specifically, 'they are her favorite flowers,' Giuseppe had whispered to me. Every time a tear rolled down her cheek or her face darkened, I would give her a lily. And since words failed her, she would sit in her rocking chair, take me on her lap, and I would snuggle in her arms. She would play this lullaby from a music box, and we would sit silently for a while, giving my mother time to wipe away her tears with her beautiful smile. When she died, her room was filled with lilies. I remember because it was the first and last time we were allowed to enter. The moment we crossed the threshold, the delicate fragrance of the flowers filled our nostrils. It showed just how unhappy she was, but as the children we were, we didn't understand her distress or its cause."

Ezio pauses, then after a few seconds, continues.

"Father didn't tell us the cause of her death until we were both adults. For him, it was a sign that we were mature enough to hear the truth, even though I already knew it but had repressed it because the memory was too painful and traumatic. It was a sunny day, and it started like any other. Mother was smiling and more radiant than ever. Her turmoil seemed like a distant memory. In the afternoon, a familiar sound woke me from my nap. It was the music box playing my lullaby. Curious and already a bit daring at that age, I climbed out of my crib and followed the sound. I found its source. I pushed open the door to the playroom where we used to go when mother wasn't well. As soon as I opened it a crack, my eyes fell on her rocking chair, which was swaying without anyone in it, then something on the right caught my attention."

He stops suddenly, overwhelmed by emotion. I take him in my arms, comforting him with a tight embrace. After a few minutes, he pulls back and, once calm, resumes his story.

"On my right, my mother's body was hanging in the air. Without fully understanding what I was seeing, I screamed, 'Mom!' which alerted the servants. They quickly pulled me away from the scene and left us in silence and ignorance. Giuseppe and I were put aside, and a few hours later, we finally saw my father enter the room, his face swollen from crying and utterly distraught. He told us that our mother had died. Without giving us more details about the circumstances, we had to mourn in our own way with the resources we had at the time. As I said, it was only at 18 that I learned the cause of her death. My mother had been suffering from postpartum depression since my birth. She fought it for three years, but that day, her turmoil overwhelmed her, pushing her to end her life as she couldn't find her lifeline. That's when I understood my father's behavior towards me. From the moment my mother died, he completely rejected me and directed all his anger towards me. He held me responsible for her death and still does today. The day I lost my mother, I also lost my father, and it was my brother who raised me. He took me under his wing, and without him, I wouldn't have turned out as well as I did. Hearing that music again brought back all those painful memories and reopened a wound that has never fully healed. I have to tell you something else. The day I learned the cause of my mother's death, I promised myself I would never become a father, so my partner wouldn't suffer as my mother did. So when you told me you were pregnant, that's another reason why I fled. I couldn't forgive myself for not keeping my own promise. But when I came back and saw the distress in your eyes and the fear I had caused by my absence, I knew I had been selfish and hadn't realized that you would suffer more from not being with me than from having this baby. So, my love, forgive me again for what I did, and know that no matter what, I will support you and be by your side. You are too precious to me for me to neglect or abandon you when you need me the most."

Moved to tears, I fall into his arms. He tightens his embrace around me, and we stay like that for a while.

"I'm so sorry you had to endure all that. You didn't deserve any of it."

"It shaped me into the man I am today. Even though it was hard and I wish it had happened differently, there's no need to be sorry for me."

"Your resilience is incredible."

" Someone dear to me once said: pitying myself would serve no purpose, he says, giving me a knowing look. It won't bring back my mother or my brother, and it won't help me move forward."

I look at him, torn between sadness and pride, then kiss him tenderly.

After about thirty minutes of watching TV, we decide to go to bed.

Still enveloped by the arms of Morpheus, I hear a distant voice growing closer and louder.

"May, damn it, wake up !"