Chapter 2

February 2024

Paolo & Vittoria

Thursdays were more than just a tradition between Paolo and his mother; they were a cherished ritual of connection, beauty, and the simple joys in life. Since their arrival on the Island of Mallorca twenty years ago, mother and son had enjoyed their weekly Thursday “get out of town” routine to explore the charming mountain villages and picturesque harbor towns on the coast of the island. Every Wednesday night brought a surge of anticipation, as Vittoria never knew what her son Paolo had in mind for the next day’s adventure. 

In recent years, however, Vittoria had started to feel her nearly eighty years of age. The hour-long drives and hilly walks were more challenging and troublesome to her weak, tired body.

Having diligently worked most of her life as a house cleaner, the bone and joint pain was a reminder of all the hard work she had experienced. Although her face beamed with the contentment of someone who had experienced much of life, and still found wonder in the present moment, deep down she yearned for a little less movement. She found the courage to tell her son that she was no longer enjoying the long drives and suggested a calmer, easier trip for their excursion day. It didn’t take long before Villa della Speranza, a twenty-minute drive from the city, became their weekly outing.

The charming Spanish inspired villa featured one main plaza with several colorful courtyards. Each outdoor area housed many tall trees, providing shade to seating areas, benches, tables and chairs. Several fountains provided a soothing ambience with the water continuously cascading, offering the residents a peaceful, yet picturesque area to walk, relax, and eat. On occasion, the scent of freshly baked bread and roasted coffee would fill the air, creating a very inviting atmosphere.

Streetlamps lined the sides of the plaza, providing a warm glow for the evening enjoyment. Once a week, live music would take center stage where residents and guests could enjoy the sound of the music from their balconies overlooking the plaza, or amidst the tall trees, twinkling with intricately woven lights throughout the branches. 

The enchanting aura of Villa della Speranza was born from the imagination of Italian artist Antonio Salucci, a visionary with a heart full of devotion to his aging parents. Antonio had dreamed of crafting an architectural haven, a place of beauty and serenity where they could savor their twilight years. What began as a humble finca flourished over decades into a verdant, ten-building estate, now home to two hundred spirited senior citizens. Antonio’s dream had not only come to life but exceeded even his boldest aspirations.

The Villa radiated a timeless charm; its tranquil grounds open to the public throughout the year. Yet, its secluded nature lent it an air of mystery, a secret oasis known only to the fortunate few. This exclusivity made it even more alluring for Paolo and Vittoria, who found solace in its quiet corners and joy in its lively plaza. The couple cherished their visits, savoring not just the camaraderie but the culinary treasures scattered throughout this vibrant “village.” For them, Villa della Speranza was more than a retreat. It was a sanctuary brimming with life, flavor, and soul.

A decade ago, over a leisurely lunch at the enchanting Barbaflorida Café in Valldemossa, fate brought Paolo and his mother, Vittoria, face-to-face with the captivating Francesca. Seated at a nearby table, Francesca’s ears perked up at the sound of Italian, an accent she hadn’t heard often during her time on Mallorca. Intrigued, she wasted no time introducing herself. What began as a chance encounter blossomed into hours of lively conversation, during which they marveled at the coincidence that their hometowns were just a stone’s throw away. For Francesca, who had met so few compatriots on the island, the meeting felt serendipitous. Warm and welcoming, she extended an invitation to visit the stunning Villa della Speranza, where she worked. And with that, a remarkable friendship was set in motion, woven together by shared roots and an unforgettable afternoon.

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Paolo and his mother, had moved to Valencia, Spain shortly after his father had left the family. Paolo was only five years of age. There were no family photos nor memories of his earlier years. The absence and secrecy behind the sudden change in his life had left Paolo with a distant, but constant nagging in his heart. His mother refused to talk about the circumstances behind his father’s departure. 

Moving to Valencia had given Vittoria a fresh new start. With little to no education, Vittoria had few choices in life. She quickly found work as a house cleaner, for several Italian families, enabling her to provide for her and her son. With her past behind her, the days and months became years, and before long, Paolo was out of school and working at a local museum.

Paolo, fueled by his passion for art and history, advanced from gallery assistant to curator within a few years. Impressing his supervisors with his dedication and fresh ideas, the museum arranged a temporary transfer to Mallorca to assist with a new exhibit at the Contemporary Art Museum in Palma. Mother and son quickly developed a deep affection for Mallorca. When the project came to an end, Paolo requested for a permanent position, which the museum happily approved. 

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When Francesca had first met Paolo and Vittoria, she had instantly fallen in love with them. They often spent Thursday’s together whenever she could take time off work. Francesca often found herself driving into town to pick up Vittoria and taking her to enjoy leisurely lunches along the coast. Despite their eighteen-year age difference, the two women found plenty to talk about, especially during moments when Paolo wasn’t around.

Their bond grew stronger over the passing seasons. Each week, Francesca and Vittoria would stroll through the bustling markets, admiring colorful displays of fruits and flowers. They often stopped at their favorite café, where the scent of fresh pastries filled the air. Over their favorite carajillo (black coffee mixed with brandy or rum), they shared stories, dreams, and laughter.

Over time, Francesca discovered that Vittoria wished to relieve Paolo of his responsibility to care for her. However, their limited financial resources made it challenging for her to avoid placing additional burdens on her beloved son.

Now in her later years, Vittoria looked back at her life and felt the deep sadness creeping up more often. It pained her so much to think back to those earlier days. Over a few glasses of wine one day, she broke down and shared her story with Francesca. 

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For his mother’s eightieth birthday Paolo surprised her with a dinner for three at her favorite Italian restaurant, La Bottega di Michele. Following their delicious meal, it was time for Paolo to surprise his mother, once again.

“Mama, I have a special gift for you. I do hope you like it,” said Paolo, as he handed his mother a beautifully wrapped box. He had given the gift much thought and decided on a thoughtful and modern present: a genetic DNA testing kit. He imagined she would be thrilled by the opportunity to learn more about her ancestry and heritage. However, when she opened the box, her reaction was nothing like he anticipated. Her face grew somber, and she quickly pushed the gift away. With trembling hands, she buried her face in them, as if overwhelmed by a flood of emotions she couldn’t contain. 

“Mama, what’s wrong? I was so sure that you wanted to know more about your Italian heritage.” Paolo said.

“Oh, my son, if I do this, it will reveal so much that I would prefer to leave in the past. Maybe Francesca would like to have it,” she said as she handed the box to Francesca.

“What could be so bad about the past that would change our lives?” said Paolo as Francesca looked at Vittoria. There was something they were not telling him.

“Vittoria, I think it is time to tell Paolo about his past. He deserves to know,” said Francesca.

“You’re right,” she replied, turning to look at Paolo with deep sadness in her eyes. “But first, there is something I must tell you both that will come as quite a shock. I must tell you because it will be revealed in this test, I am sure.”

“Please, please mama, what in the world are you saying?”

“What I want to say is that I am not your mother. You are not my son even though I have raised you as if you were my son.” As tears flowed down her face, Francesca and Paolo stared at each other in disbelief. 

“Vittoria, I had no idea,” said Francesca, very lovingly.

“There’s more?” asked Paolo. “What does Francesca know that I need to know?”

“Just give me a minute. I will explain. It’s been such a long time. Please.” The pain in Vittoria’s eyes saddened Paolo. “I’m sorry mama. It’s just all so confusing. Please, forgive me. I’m listening.”

“In 1958, when I was sixteen, I gave birth to a son, Vincenzo. Many years later, he married a girl from Greece named Renata while he was with the Italian navy. Renata gave birth to you while he was away at sea,” she explained, wiping a few tears from her cheek. “They are your parents. You, my dearest Paolo, are my grandson.” Her voice was trembling. “I do hope you can forgive me for having kept this from you.” Tears were flowing down her face as Paolo held her in a deep embrace. “You will always be my mama. I love you even more now,” whispered Paolo into her ear. Francesca was wiping away her many tears as she knew there were more revelations to come.

“Please let me continue. Your father was a rebel and caused many problems daily. When you were five years old, your mother and father, along with two other friends, made a grave mistake that forced them to be banished from our village for the rest of their lives. Let me give you a little background. On that fateful day in 1984, Mario Andreoli had just retired from his days as a railway worker and was dedicating his time to creating additional figures for the hillside nativity scene. Mario had started the nativity scene with just one cross in 1961 after his dying father asked him to restore an ancient pilgrim’s cross that stood on the hilltop of the family vineyard in Manarola. He decided to illuminate it, using a car battery which created a beautiful spectacle. Year after year, Mario crafted new figures and characters out of iron and recycled, salvaged materials, scattering them over the terraced hill overlooking Manarola. On the eve of December 8th, 1984, thirty life size figures were to be illuminated with hundreds of lights.” Vittoria began to weep as the overwhelming grief of reliving that moment got to her.

“You don’t have to continue if you don’t want to. I can’t imagine how difficult that must have been for you,” said Paolo, a sense of anger growing inside of him.

“No, I must tell you the story. It has been buried in my heart for far too long.” She took a deep breath, wiping away the tears. “Your father, Vincenzo, was born reckless and mischievous. He continuously acted without thinking of the consequences. After he and your mother, and brought you into the world, they did not change their ways. In fact, they abandoned you at my doorstep saying they had to get away for a few days. I prayed that they would never return, and for a while, I thought my prayers had been answered. Years later, they came back to the village. You were five years old. No one missed them nor their antics, but the cruel reminder of their practical jokes was an unwelcome return. It was hard to hide their presence as even today, only three hundred and fifty people live in the village.” Vittoria took a sip of water and asked Francesca to bring her a glass of red wine.

“Late on the night of December 7th, your mother and father along with their two unknown friends, intentionally damaged and destroyed over half of the figures, and all the lights, totally disregarding the significance of the site. When the Andreoli family awoke the next morning to the destruction, it caused an unimaginable outrage in the village. All fingers were pointed to your parents. The elders chased the four out of the village with sticks, brooms and metal bars all the way up the hill to the main road. When the elders returned to the village an hour later, they were fuming. I was told that they would never be allowed to return. If they did, there would be consequences. I was forty-two years old and raising you as my own. The burden of guilt was heavy on my heart, and it shamed me to venture out of the house. A month later, with the assistance of my dearest friend and her husband, they helped me relocate to Spain, where friends of theirs were willing to extend much needed support for our new beginning.”

Paolo hugged his mother/grandmother and whispered into her ear. “You are the most amazing person in my entire life. I owe you the world and I love you more than you will ever know.”

“I love you that much as well. That is why I decided it would be best for us to leave Manarola. I did not want you to grow up with a dark shadow cast over you for the rest of your life. I hope you will forgive me for keeping all this from you for so long.”

“There is nothing to forgive. You did what was best at the time during a circumstance that you had no control over.”

“Do you remember the long train ride we took when you were five?”

“I do. Well, maybe bits and pieces. What I remember was changing trains many times and the uncomfortable hard seats. I also remember you crying every now and then when you didn’t think I was looking. I just thought you were sad to be leaving our cat behind for our vacation. It was a vacation that you said we were on, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, I didn’t know how else to tell you what was happening, so that was the easiest way for me to explain it to you. By the time we arrived in Valencia, Spain, and settled into our home, and you in school, I erased the past from my mind and focused on my house cleaning business. Before I knew it, you were finishing up school and working at the Museum.”

Francesca glanced over at Vittoria; glad she had revealed the dark hidden truth to Paolo. “I too, remember that day as if it happened yesterday,” she began, her voice steady but soft. Paolo, stunned, looked at her in confusion. “I was twenty-four, caught amid preparing for my dreaded wedding. I didn’t love the man I barely knew, yet my family insisted on pushing me into that next chapter in my life. On the morning of December 8th, I recall the anger and chaos that gripped our village. Rumors spread quickly within the villages, and we were warned to beware of the Costa couple. If they came into town, we were ordered to chase them away.” 

Francesca gently reached out, taking Vittoria’s trembling hand in her own. “I’m so sorry. It must have been incredibly hard for you, but I understand why you had to leave.” A shared sadness clouded both women’s faces, the weight of the past heavy in the air. 

“I, too, had to leave as I couldn’t follow through with my marriage. I ran away to Corsica for a few years, and after a visit to Mallorca, I realized I preferred that island. It was around the time that I met Antonio, the visionary behind Villa della Speranza. We were together for a year but discovered that we were better as business partners than as a couple. Together, we brought his artistic vision to life. It was a labor of love, and has brought so much joy to so many families. I am happy that you get to enjoy it every week.”

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Under the shimmering lights of Mallorca’s lively promenade, Francesca and her four girlfriends laughed and clinked their glasses, reveling in the New Year’s magic. The air buzzed with music and joy as fireworks illuminated the night, casting a golden glow on their faces. Between spontaneous selfies, and bursts of laughter, they toasted to friendship and new beginnings, promising that 2024 was going to be an unforgettable year.

Weeks later, while enjoying their afternoon hot chocolate and churros at a local café, the five decided to simultaneously join the Blank Checks social media game which had gone viral during the first week of the year. They each felt a thrill as they completed the process on the app.       

“So, Francesca. How much would you write on the blank check?” asked her closest friend Miranda. “Remember. It suggests you DREAM BIG.”

“That’s a great question. Let me see….”

“Stop thinking so much. Just spit out the first number that comes to mind,” blurted out Miranda.

“Ok, ok. Five million. I would share it with each of you” replied Francesca.

“Five million split between us? Are you serious?” Liliana leaned forward, her hot chocolate and churro half-forgotten on the table. “Francesca, you’re not just talking crazy, are you?”

“I’m serious,” Francesca said, her lips curving into a sly smile. “I do have some other ideas so why not go crazy. I’d write in ten million.”

“Ten million?” Emilia scoffed, shaking her head. “Be realistic.”

“I am being realistic. Why not aim big?” replied Francesca. “What about you Isabel? You are being mighty quiet. What do you think?”

The table went silent. All eyes were on Isabel, who leaned back in her chair, as she tapped her fingers on the table, her expression unreadable. “I have a few ideas, but right now I say we focus on what you’d do with it. Hypothetically, of course.”

Francesca smiled. “Let’s just say the money’s real, and it’s mine to give. I would still share one million with each of you. I’d give one million to my parents, half a million to Vittoria and half a million to Paolo. That would leave me with three million. I think I can have some fun with that, don’t you think?” The table erupted into uncontrollable laughter.

Copyright © 2025

Part 10 /14

Target publishing date mid August, 2025