Page 235 of Lorenzo

There was no urgency to it. No reason to think we needed to make plans around a future that seemed obvious. My chest tightens with an old ache that has dulled over the years without ever disappearing entirely.

Then Gemma became sick.

Then she died.

Alessio was barely old enough to know her, and Edoardo was still little himself. Suddenly the future became something entirely different from what either of us had imagined.

“She died so soon after Alessio was born,” I say. “Afterward, I was raising two boys who had lost their mother. I had no interest in imagining another version of my life.”

Mario’s gaze softens, although he does not interrupt.

“It never became a conscious decision that I would not have more children. It simply stopped being something I thought about. The years passed, the boys grew up, and eventually that part of my life felt finished.”

I sit back.

“I let go of the idea.”

There is no bitterness in the admission.

That surprises me less than it might have once.

I loved Gemma. I loved the family we created together. I still do.

What we lost does not make what remained inadequate.

“I love my sons,” I say. “I have never resented having only them. I never looked at Edoardo and Alessio and thought I should have had something more.”

“I know,” Mario says.

“Then why ask?”

He looks toward the photograph on the corner of his desk.

Victoria is holding Leonardo in it, and Mario is standing beside her with one arm around both of them. I have seen the photograph dozens of times since he put it there, but I have never paid much attention to it.

“I always thought I would only have two children,” he says.

I look back at him.

“After Anna, I never imagined otherwise. Matteo and Tomasso were grown. I assumed that part of my life was over.”

“And then Victoria.”

“And then Victoria.”

There is a warmth in his voice that would once have earned him weeks of ridicule from the rest of us.

These days, none of us bother.

We have all seen what she means to him.

“Leonardo was never part of the life I thought I would have,” Mario continues. “Now I cannot imagine life without him.”

I study my brother.

“You are becoming sentimental in your old age.”

“So are you.”