“I’m fine,” he whispered, pushing your hand away as it reached to tend the dark bruise on his cheek. But you stopped him with childish stubbornness, returned your hand to its place, and gently applied the ointment hiding together behind the large tree in the orphanage courtyard, far from the eyes of the matron who saw nothing but guilt and knew no mercy.

It wasn’t the first time. Nor the second. Once again… he had taken the beating instead of you, covered for you as he always did, and received a sharp slap from the orphanage cook just because you had stolen a piece of bread after hunger defeated you. He was the one who lied. He was the one who said the hand that reached for the bread was his.

You had never spoken the words mother or father in your life. You didn’t even know what they truly meant. Family? That was a feeling you had never experienced. You were just an infant left on the orphanage doorstep… but at least you had a name. And you had Francesco.

He was only a year older than you. True, you never had a family but if family ever had a real meaning, it would have been embodied in him. Your Chiko. That’s what you called him the first time, when you failed to pronounce his name and found it too difficult. And for reasons you never understood… he never allowed anyone else to call him that.

He was difficult, stubborn, sharp-eyed. The matron could barely control him. A child not raised by a gentle hand, but by one that struck without mercy until pain became ordinary to him, something that left no mark.

Yet he never allowed that pain to reach you. You were the only exception in the hell of the orphanage. He was harsh with everyone… gentle only with you. He broke at your tears and raged at the entire world if your lips trembled.

Until he turned seventeen…

You were running through the orphanage corridor, tears filling your eyes until you could no longer see clearly. No… he wouldn’t leave you. You had heard the children whispering: Francesco has been adopted.

At last, you reached the main door. There he stood face rigid, jaw clenched and beside him an elderly couple who, it seemed, had adopted him.

The moment his eyes fell on you, his hardness shattered. His features softened with pain, and ignoring the matron’s orders, he stepped toward you. You were gasping violently, until your voice broke as he pulled you tightly into his chest. You clung to his shirt, whispering, screaming, crying all at once begging him not to go… not to leave you.

He pulled back slightly, his hands lifting your face. He looked at you with that tender gaze no one else ever saw. He leaned down and placed soft kisses on your eyes, as if apologizing for every tear that had fallen because of him.

He whispered, in a voice meant only for you. “Give me one year… just one year. I promise I’ll get you out of this hell.”

You shook your head in refusal. Then, with a firm tug, he pulled the necklace from around his neck the necklace of his mother, the only thing he had never given up and placed it in your palm. Then, stepping backward, he disappeared from your sight, while you felt your hair fall freely down your back… after he took your hair tie with him.

You didn’t truly feel the emptiness of life until that year had passed.

You were carrying a bag that held almost nothing, only a few simple belongings. Your fingers fidgeted with the necklace at your neck as you walked behind the matron.

You had been adopted. You weren’t even given an explanation, and your mind could barely comprehend what was happening. Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t notice when you stopped at the orphanage door, the matron turning back inside and leaving you standing there alone, indifferent.

Your hand fell away from the necklace when you saw who was standing a few steps away leaning against a black car. Tall. Familiar. Standing with a steadiness your heart recognized before your mind did.

Francesco.He had come… to adopt you.