The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, casting the world into an eerie twilight as Matteo trudged home. His limbs felt heavy, every step dragging with the weight of his exhaustion. His clothes were still damp in places, streaked with dirt, and his body ached from the day's torment.
Yet, before his house came into view, he wiped his tears. He forced his lips into a weak smile. His parents could never know.
The small, aging house stood at the edge of a narrow street, nestled between buildings much larger, much stronger. The paint was peeling, the wooden door slightly crooked, and the dim porch light flickered weakly, as if struggling to stay alive.....just like the family inside.
Before he could knock, the door swung open.
"Matteo!" His mother's voice was filled with warmth, her face lighting up as though she had been waiting for him all day.
For a second, he just stood there, staring at her, unable to understand why she was so happy.
Then, from behind her.....
"Son!"
His father.
Matteo blinked. He's home?
A rare occurrence. His father, usually caught between endless shifts, rarely made it home before Matteo had already fallen asleep. Yet here he was, sitting on their worn-out couch, his face weary but smiling.
Matteo hesitated.
Something in him twisted painfully.
He couldn't let them see his suffering.
So he smiled.
"I'm home."
His mother beamed, stepping closer to hug him.....then froze.
"Matteo...… your clothes! They're filthy! What happened?"
Before he could answer, she reached up, taking the corner of her faded dress and gently wiping his dirt-streaked face.
His throat tightened.
"Nothing," he muttered, looking away.
But she wasn't satisfied. "Tell me the truth."
His father's gaze, though tired, turned sharp. "Did something happen at college?"
The room suddenly felt suffocating. Their concern, their love—it was too much.
Matteo clenched his fists.
"Why do you care?" His voice came out harsher than intended. "Why does it matter? The truth is… none of this would've happened if I wasn't born poor!"
Silence.
His mother stepped back, eyes wide.
His father's expression darkened, his fingers curling into the fabric of his trousers.
Then.....
A soft sound.
His mother.
She was crying.
Matteo's stomach dropped.
He had never....never....seen her cry before.
She covered her face, her shoulders trembling as she tried to suppress her sobs. His father quickly wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close.
Matteo took a step back.
What have I done?
Without another word, he turned and rushed up the stairs, slamming his door shut.
The moment he was alone, his body collapsed against the wooden frame.
Tears. Again.
His hands clutched his head as he slid down to the floor, his sobs muffled against his knees.
He had hurt them.
The two people who had sacrificed everything for him....he had thrown their love back in their faces.
And the worst part?
They would still love him anyway.
The night crept by in heavy silence.
Matteo's stomach twisted painfully, but he didn't dare go downstairs. He didn't deserve to eat.
Yet, at some point, he found himself tiptoeing toward the door, drawn by a faint whisper.
He hesitated.
His parents' voices.
Slowly, he pressed his ear against the wood.
"There wasn't enough for tiffin today," his mother murmured, her voice weary. "But I wanted to get the cake for tomorrow…... his birthday only comes once a year."
"You should have eaten something," his father replied softly.
"It's fine," she said, forcing a small laugh. "As long as Matteo has enough, that's what matters."
Matteo's breath hitched.
They had nothing for themselves.
Yet they still thought of him first.
His knees felt weak. His vision blurred.
Slowly, he stepped away from the door, his heart pounding against his ribs.
Without thinking, he wiped his eyes and opened the door.
His mother turned in surprise, but before she could say anything, Matteo moved forward.
He didn't speak—he simply knelt in front of her, took her hands, and pressed his forehead against them.
"I'm sorry."
His mother gasped softly. "Matteo...."
He lifted his head, forcing a smile. "You haven't eaten, right?"
Before she could deny it, he took the small plate she had set aside for him. He scooped a spoonful of rice and held it up to her lips.
"Eat, Mom."
She shook her head. "No, son, this is for....."
He didn't let her finish. "Please."
Her lips trembled.
With hesitation, she took the bite.
Then he turned to his father, repeating the action. His father sighed but accepted it without a word.
Matteo smiled, blinking back tears.
For the first time that day, his heart felt warm.
He would endure. For them.
That night, the house was filled with soft laughter and candlelight.
The small cake sat in the center of their worn dining table, its single candle flickering.
His mother clapped her hands together. "Make a wish!"
Matteo looked at them.....his father, still weary but smiling; his mother, eyes bright despite the fatigue.
His heart swelled with emotion.
His wish?
To always have them.
As the candle's flame died, Matteo hugged them both, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I don't deserve you."
His mother held him tighter.
His father ruffled his hair.
Neither said a word.
But in their embrace, Matteo found his answer.