The night before they left for allied territory, Salvatore’s voice softened a little, as if he was trying to explain himself.
“There were only five sets of papers cut for this passage,” he said. “Someone had to stay behind and mind the seat. That’s why you’re not coming. Don’t take it personally, capisci? There’ll be other chances. We’ve got plenty of time.”
It sounded like reassurance, but the tone still carried that familiar condescension, like he was granting me a favor by explaining anything at all.
Just like that, he turned his back to me and closed his eyes, done with the conversation.
I stared at the back of his head, blank and still. But there was no ache in my chest anymore. No anger. No sadness. Nothing.
I was done waiting around for "next time."
Again, I didn’t sleep a wink that night.
By dawn, the whole seat was bustling. They were all in high spirits, restless with the excitement of crossing into another house’s ground for the first time. I watched as they checked their bags and their papers over and over again.
I had made breakfast early, quietly laying out their favorite things, hoping they’d at least take a bite.
But no one even looked at it.
Matteo, my grandson, smirked as he passed me on his way out the door, muttering in Adriana’s exact cadence. “Grandma, we’re crossing over. Who’d still want your sad old sour bread? You’re so behind the times.”
I just looked at him and smiled. Didn’t say a word. There were too many bags for one set of hands, so I drove everyone to the border crossing myself.
As we pulled up to the departure point, I saw Adriana, polished from head to toe, the way she always was. The second they spotted her, every face lit up.
Matteo ran straight into her arms. Salvatore’s smile stretched so wide it wrinkled his whole face. My son and his wife beamed, barely able to hide their excitement.
In that moment, it was like there were two different families. Them, and me.
“Dio, Grandma Adriana, I missed you so much,” Matteo crowed.
Adriana greeted everyone with that sweet, practiced smile she always wore, then reminded the group in her usual meticulous way. “Check your papers, all of you. I always fret over this kind of thing. Forget anything else, just don’t forget the papers and the IDs.”
Despite having checked everything at the seat several times already, they all obediently unzipped their bags and dug through them, because when Adriana said something, it carried the weight of the whole name.
It should’ve gone smooth. Every last detail should have been perfect. But of course, the one thing that mattered most went missing.
Little Matteo’s travel papers were nowhere to be found.
The second panic set in, every head turned toward me at once, as if they’d just remembered I existed.
“Ma, you packed Matteo’s bag, didn’t you? You said you put them in. Why aren’t they there?”
I froze. I had packed them. With my own hands. I remembered every detail, every pocket.
Before I could explain, Salvatore came at me, his face twisted in fury. The slap landed hard across my cheek.
For a second, everything went silent, just a ringing in my ears. The crossing seemed to hold its breath. The sting bloomed hot and sharp, over and over, burning straight into my thoughts.
People turned to stare. Strangers, watching. Made men from allied houses, judging.
“I knew it,” Salvatore shouted, forgetting himself, forgetting the eyes on us. “You’ve been acting so damn obedient all week, now I see why. This was your plan all along, wasn’t it? You wanted to sabotage the passage. You wanted to ruin everything.”
