Giovanni

A Father You Never Knew

The rain fell fine and steady on the cemetery, as if the sky itself were weeping. I stood there, dressed in black, holding a bouquet of white flowers, feeling the emptiness left by my mother's death. She was everything to me. My world. And now, only loneliness remained.

People approached, offering condolences, whispering words of comfort that I barely heard. I was oblivious to everything, my gaze fixed on the coffin, trying to memorize her face one last time.

That's when I saw him.

A man, at the end of the line. Tall, with graying hair at the temples, wearing a suit that seemed a little tight, as if he hadn't worn it in years. He wasn't talking to anyone. He just watched, with an expression I couldn't immediately decipher—it was a mixture of pain, shame, and immeasurable longing.

When the ceremony ended and most of the guests began to disperse, he remained. Standing a few meters away, as if waiting for courage. Finally, he took slow steps in my direction.

"You must be Larissa," he said. His voice was deep, but trembling.

I nodded, suspiciously. I didn't remember seeing him in any photos, nor on any special occasion in our lives.

"Who are you?" I asked, trying to maintain a steady posture despite the pain.

He took a deep breath, looked at the still-open grave, and then turned his gaze back to me. They were brown eyes, very similar to mine.

"My name is Giovanni," he paused, swallowing hard. "I am... I am your father."

For a second, I felt like I couldn't breathe. Father. The word echoed in my head like a thunderclap. All my life, my mother had said he left when I was a baby, that he didn't want anything to do with us. I grew up angry, with the absence, wondering what kind of man would abandon a daughter and a pregnant woman. And now, there he was, appearing like a ghost.