A Mother For My Son

th Dom

re for just over a week now, as I have nothing holding me back in my home country. After the death of my parents, I felt so lonely that I n

t against his tanned skin, especially with that jet-black hair. The woman accompanying him is beautiful in every sense of the word, with her reddish hair, fair skin, tall, and a great fi

t like doing live streams. Suddenly, behind me, I hear many gunshots, and from their intensity, I deduce they're from a high-caliber weapon. People start running and screaming, trying to protect themselves, while the screeching of a van can be heard. I crouch down

trying to protect him all this time. I don't know if he's injured because he's crying with all his lungs. She hands him to me and tells me something I can't understand because I don't speak Italian. After this, she takes off a silver chain from her neck, w

eck the baby I'm carrying in my arms. He's still crying, but fortunately, he's unharmed. I take off my jacket and wrap him in it. After about an hour of walking aimles

ce but to run again. I've only gone a few meters when a van blocks my path. I think it's the end for us. A man gets out of the back, but due to nerves, I don't recognize him, also because te

acts as a translator the whole time. They demand that I hand over the baby I'm holding and explain what I'm doing with him. W

as more tears well up in my eyes. Then his man

one, and we've been looking for him since we found out about the accide

r talking to his boss and him shouting in frustration, he grabs my arm and shows me a photo on his phone of the ba

cket a little and I'm about to hand it over when I realize that the baby has his hand tightly gripped onto my sweater, making it impossible for me to open his little fist. Now I can see that he

t, he extends his hand, I take it, and slowly bring his huge finger closer to the baby's hand, who is sleeping peacefully in my arms. After a while, he takes his father's finger and lets

ff my sweater over my head (since I don't want to walk the streets with a blood stain; that would be terrifying), and instantly regret it, because I'm only wearing a very thin, tight blouse. I grab the sweater and throw it into a nearby