P.S. Never marry, Alessandro, someone who doesn’t know how to play with your daughter in the mud.”
Alessandro read the note three times.
The last time, aloud.
Livia listened, sitting on the edge of the desk, swinging her feet.
“Is that from Mom?” she asked. “
It’s from Mom.
” “And what does it say?”
He was silent for a moment.
Then, his voice trembling, he smiled.
“It says we have to go out and play in the mud.
” “But it’s raining!”
“Exactly.”
They looked at each other.
Seconds later, the garden gate creaked open, and out ran, under the water, a tall man with tattoos on his arms, a little girl with a white streak in her hair, and a woman chasing them with an umbrella no one wanted to use.
The streetlights bathed everything in gold.
They laughed.
They were soaked to the bone.
They slipped on the mud of the vegetable garden, amidst squashed tomatoes and laughter.
And far away, on a shelf in the office, the fragment of the broken mirror reflected the open window.
The crack ran across it, but it was no longer a wound.
It was a boundary.
On one side lay the house of lies.
On the other, finally, the light.
A clean, clear, authentic light.
This time, not too bright for the daytime.
Exactly the light they deserved.
