I reached out to the letter,s. but my fingers were shaking so hard that I couldn’t get it. Luke noticed and gently pushed the glass of water towards me, while Matteo sat in the chair to my right.

“You don’t have to read it now,s” Matteo said. We can wait.

I shook my head.

• No. I want to know what your father wrote.
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I’ve opened the paper carefully. It was yellowed at the edges and kept a weak trace of the perfume that Marco used when we were going for dinner together.

First of all he wrote:

“My dear Luke and Matteo, if one day you read this letter, it’s time to tell you something I might not have explained when I was with you.”

I felt a lump in my throat.

Marco had never been the man of grandiose statements. He showed his love through small gestures: he was preparing my coffee in the morning, heating my car in winter and leaving my notes on the fridge when he left before me.
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