The Ghost of a Mother
My name is Matteo, and for most of my childhood, I genuinely believed I possessed the perfect, loving family— a fragile, little sanctuary overflowing with warmth. Through my young, innocent eyes, my parents, Clara and Lorenzo, appeared utterly unbreakable— or at least, that’s precisely how it felt in my sheltered, naive world. My father owned a modest mechanic shop in a sleepy village called Borgo San Vito, nestled quaintly in the serene Tuscan hills. My mother stayed home to lovingly raise me. I was their only cherished child, and back then, I truly believed our small, peaceful world would endure forever.
Then everything abruptly fell apart—sudden, like a searing lightning bolt striking the very heart of our lives. My father lost his job without any warning. I didn’t fully comprehend the gravity of it at the time, but I acutely noticed the pervasive change in him— the joyful laughter drained completely from his voice, and a heavy, oppressive silence settled over his entire being. He eventually secured another job, but our money vanished like dry leaves swept mercilessly away by the autumn wind. At night, I would frequently hear my mother shouting, dishes breaking loudly during their tumultuous fights. Their angry voices echoed hauntingly through the house like distant, rumbling thunder, and I would instinctively curl beneath my blanket, shaking uncontrollably, desperately wishing it would all just miraculously disappear.
Then came the final, devastating blow. Dad discovered that Mom had been secretly meeting another man. Our home instantly transformed into a volatile battlefield— shouts filled the suffocating air, tears flowed like uncontrolled rivers, and the front door slammed shut with a deafening sound as my father abruptly walked out. He left us—her and me—behind. I missed him so profoundly it felt as though my chest would literally break from the pain. I begged Mom to please let me see him, but she always snapped back, “It’s all his fault, Matteo! He abandoned us—he’s a disgusting man!” Her words cut like sharp knives, but they couldn’t possibly silence my deep longing for my father.
One cold morning, my mother approached me with a radiant smile I hadn’t seen on her face in ages—a faded echo of happier, long-gone days. “Pack your things, sweetheart, we’re going to the sea!” she announced brightly.
My heart immediately leapt—the sea! It felt like an impossible dream. She was already frantically stuffing clothes into an old, worn-out suitcase. I tried to bring my beloved toy trains, but she gently stopped me: “We’ll buy you new ones there—much nicer ones, you’ll see.” I believed her implicitly. How could I not? She was my mother, after all.
We arrived at the bustling bus station, crowded and noisy with travelers. She bought the tickets and stated we had a little time, that we needed to make a quick, unscheduled stop first. We boarded an old bus that creaked and shook violently with every single bump in the road. I stared wistfully out the window, dreaming vividly of crashing waves and magnificent sandcastles. Finally, we stopped in front of a crumbling building with peeling walls and perpetually foggy windows. “Wait here, Matteo,” she instructed, pointing to a weathered bench by the entrance. “I’m just going to get you an ice cream. Don’t move from this spot.”
I nodded obediently, sat down on the cold wooden bench… and patiently waited.
Time passed excruciatingly slow. One hour. Then another. Still no sign of her returning. The sun began to set, the wind grew noticeably colder, and a profound fear began to tighten its suffocating grip around my small chest. I stared intently at the windows of the building, lighting up one by one, desperately hoping to catch a glimpse of her silhouette with an ice cream cone in hand. But she never came back. Darkness completely swallowed the courtyard like a thick, impenetrable fog, and I, just a little boy, was left utterly alone.
Tears streamed hotly down my cheeks as I called out for her, but my small voice was entirely lost in the vastness of the night. Exhausted from the biting cold and overwhelming fear, I curled up tightly on the bench and eventually fell asleep.
When I awoke, I wasn’t outside anymore. I was now in a warm, comfortable bed. I slowly opened my eyes—the room was strange and completely unfamiliar. For a fleeting moment, I actually thought my mother had returned and brought me here. “Mom?” I tentatively called out.
The door gently opened… and it was my father. Behind him stood a woman I didn’t recognize.
I jumped up abruptly, my heart pounding rapidly in my chest. “Dad! Where’s Mom? She went to get ice cream and completely disappeared! What happened?”
He sat down next to me, his face deeply lined with visible pain. He took my small hand and spoke words that carved themselves permanently into my soul: “Matteo, your mother abandoned you. She’s gone. And she’s not coming back.”
It felt as though the very ground collapsed beneath me. Abandoned? Mothers don’t do that, I thought. I cried, screamed that it wasn’t true, that she had promised to take me to the sea. But Dad held me tightly and repeatedly whispered, “She’s not coming back, son.”
He didn’t sugarcoat the painful truth. He gave me the reality—raw and utterly heartbreaking.
Years slowly passed. Dad and I moved to Positano, a picturesque town by the sparkling sea where the waves crashed endlessly against the majestic cliffs. The woman living with him was named Giulia. She was incredibly kind, though I initially kept my distance from her. Over time, I gradually began to call her “Mom”— not the one who left me, but the one who lovingly stayed, who truly loved me unconditionally. Then my little sister, Sofia, was born. And for the very first time, I genuinely understood what a real family truly felt like— warm, peaceful, and utterly safe.
As I grew older, Dad shared more of the difficult truth with me. My birth mother had coldly called him the morning after she abandoned me, telling him indifferently where I was, then simply hanging up the phone. Her parental rights were subsequently revoked by the state, and I never heard from her again.
Life steadily moved forward. We bought a bigger, more spacious house. I diligently went to school, graduated with honors, and secured a great job. As my salary significantly grew, I decided it was time for my own place. Dad and Giulia lovingly helped me buy a small, charming apartment in the heart of beautiful Positano.
One stormy evening, I was walking home from work when I saw a lone figure sitting on a bench directly outside my building. A cold chill ran down my spine. She looked up, her eyes meeting mine, and whispered, “Matteo…”
“I’m your mother,” she said, her voice trembling noticeably.
I froze in my tracks. She was older, visibly worn down by life—a complete stranger to me.
“Why now? After all these years?” I asked, my voice flat.
I pulled out my phone and immediately called Dad and Giulia.
They arrived quickly, their familiar presence instantly calming my frayed nerves. Dad looked at me, his gaze supportive, and said, “It’s your choice, son… if you believe she deserves a place in your life.”
I looked at her—the woman who had abandoned me on a cold bench that desolate night— and all I felt was a profound emptiness. The apartment buzzer rang. Dad went to answer it, and she instinctively tried to follow him.
I stood tall and firmly said, “You’re not my mother. My mother is the one who lovingly raised me, who bravely stayed when you so cruelly ran. I don’t want your empty excuses. Leave. And don’t ever come back.”
She broke into wrenching tears, her shoulders shaking. But I didn’t move.
She slowly turned and vanished into the stormy night.
I turned to Dad and Giulia and hugged them with all the strength I possessed. “I love you,” I said through a choked voice, tears blurring my vision. “Thank you… for absolutely everything.”
They were my family. My true home. My undeniable truth.
And her? Just a fleeting ghost from a painful past I’ve already completely outgrown.
Do not ever abandon your children. They didn’t ask to be born—you brought them into this world. The very least they deserve is your unconditional love. I, Matteo, know that better than anyone else.
