'Looking for this?' he waved the little orange box in front of my eyes. I reached for it and suddenly fell to the floor. He started laughing. 'Only one of us can stay in this place.' he leaned into my face. 'And that's me.' he whispered, then swung his knife. I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer. This is the end, isn't it? For me, for sure. At least I could see my father again and be with him again. 

I woke up in a room. Where am I? Is this heaven or hell? I don't know, but it seems quite peaceful.

The figure of a woman appeared. She was slender and beautiful. Her hair was the exact same color as mine. I went closer to her. She sounded like she was saying something.

'Why are you here? ' she asked, barely audible.

'What do you mean? '

She turned around. She had a beautiful face. Her eyes were the same bluish green as mine.

'This place isn't for you yet.' She stepped closer to me and ran her hand over my face. Her gaze fell on my hand.

'Where did you get this?' She looked at the ring my father gave me when he... died.

'My father gave it to me when...' I snapped. I swallowed hard to hold back the tears 'when he left me alone.'

Her eyes widened. Her lips closed sadly.

'I'm sorry, sweetheart.' she hugged me. For some reason it felt so good and almost warmed me.

'Who are you? Do you know me? ' I pushed her away.

'Yes, I know you.' he patted me on the head like a little kid who was doing something good.

'How did you know? ' I wondered.

'This' she pointed to my finger 'used to be mine.'

'No... that's impossible! It was my father's.' I pushed her away and looked at her, confused.

'It became your father's after my death, yes.'

'Wait. You know my father? Are you part of the mafia? ' I took another step back. She laughed.

'I was, yes. I met your father there.'

'Is that where you met my father? How did you meet him? ' 

She smiled.

'Your father saved me from death and took me with him to have a better life.' she smiled even more, as if she was telling me a beautiful memory. It probably was.

'So you were a friend of my father's? ' I asked curiously. At last I have some new information about my father which I am sure will be useful to me!

'I was more than a friend to him.' he said, barely audible. He was more than a friend...?

'You...'

'Yes? ' she looked up at me from his thoughts.

'You, my...? ' I dared not say. My father always said my mother died in a car accident when he came home from work one day. But I was very little then. I never saw a picture of my mother. But why? For some reason I never cared because my father was always there for me and with me. I never wondered who my mother was, or where she was, or what she was doing. 'Are you my mother? '

'Yes '