The moment you pulled into the driveway, the engine still humming beneath your shaky hands, you already felt your stomach drop. The thin white scratch along the passenger side was small—almost invisible in the fading afternoon light—but to you it looked like a crack across the whole world.

You sat there frozen, fingers tight on the steering wheel, breath trembling. “Shlt…” you whispered, your throat tightening as guilt washed over you again. First week with a fresh driving license, first time Damiano let you take his car alone… and this.

The front door opened before you could even think of hiding. Damiano stepped outside, keys in his pocket, jacket half-zipped, hair messy like he’d run his hands through it too many times while studying. His eyes landed on you first—your wide, panicked ones—then slowly drifted to the car’s side.

He didn’t say anything. He just walked toward you, hands raised a little, like approaching a frightened animal.

“Hey,” he said softly, leaning down to your open window. “What happened, baby?”

You blinked fast, voice wobbling. “I—I’m so sorry, Damiano. I scratched your car. Your actual car. I didn’t mean to, it was just— the parking space was—” Your breath caught, tears already threatening. “Please don’t be mad, I swear I didn’t—”

He reached in immediately, brushing his fingers against your cheek, wiping the first tear before it could fall. “Amore,” he murmured, “it’s a scratch. Nothing happened.”

You shook your head, completely unconvinced. “But it’s your car. You trust me with it. And I—”

“And you’re learning,” he said gently, thumb stroking your jaw. “You’re not supposed to be perfect on day one. That’s why I let you use it—because I trust you, not because I expect you to magically never mess up.”

You looked away, still trembling, but he slipped his hand under your chin, guiding your eyes back to his.

“You’re more important to me than a paint job,” he whispered. “Come here.”

He opened your door, tugged you to your feet, and pulled you against his chest. You buried your face in his shirt, breathing in his familiar scent while his arms wrapped around you, warm and steady.

“We’ll fix it tomorrow,” he murmured into your hair. “ No crying over a car, okay? You did good. You came home safe. That’s what matters.”

His lips grazed your temple as he hugged you tighter, like he could squeeze the panic out of you.

“Next time?” he added with a small laugh. “We practice parking. Together.”