A Mother For My Son

Lilibeth Domínguez

I'm on my way to a very nice coffee shop I found yesterday in Orvieto, Italy. It's a very peaceful place and I like it. I've been living here for just over a week now, as I have nothing holding me back in my home country. After the death of my parents, I felt so lonely that I needed to seek a new adventure, but I never thought that what I would experience in the following days would be more than just an adventure.

I leave the coffee shop with a delicious ice cream when I see a man who takes my breath away. He's sitting down, but I can tell he's over six feet tall, muscular, blue eyes that stand out against his tanned skin, especially with that jet-black hair. The woman accompanying him is beautiful in every sense of the word, with her reddish hair, fair skin, tall, and a great figure, as she catches the attention of every man passing by. our gazes meet for a few seconds, and I feel a flutter in my heart, but I'm the first to look away and then continue on my way.

It's been two days since my first encounter with that man, and I still can't forget those beautiful eyes and those lips that seemed to invite a kiss. I'm in the same coffee shop as that day, recording a short video to upload later to my social media because I don't like doing live streams. Suddenly, behind me, I hear many gunshots, and from their intensity, I deduce they're from a high-caliber weapon. People start running and screaming, trying to protect themselves, while the screeching of a van can be heard. I crouch down, and just as I'm about to run like everyone else, I realize that all the bullets were aimed at that luxurious van just a few steps away from where I am. Without warning, the back door opens, and I see a woman covered in blood falling, holding something in her arms.

I'm about to turn away when she notices me and looks at me with beautiful green eyes, pleading for my help. Like the fool I am, I don't hesitate to approach her. She lifts herself up slightly, and I see a baby about five months old in her arms. She's been trying to protect him all this time. I don't know if he's injured because he's crying with all his lungs. She hands him to me and tells me something I can't understand because I don't speak Italian. After this, she takes off a silver chain from her neck, which she hands to me, trying to push me away with her hands when we hear the noise of several cars trying to reach the place where we are. I turn around and run away from there, but not before giving one last look at the woman who has taken her last breath.

I run through the empty streets, as everyone has taken shelter in shops or their homes to stay safe. When I'm at a safe distance and think no one is following me, I check the baby I'm carrying in my arms. He's still crying, but fortunately, he's unharmed. I take off my jacket and wrap him in it. After about an hour of walking aimlessly, I don't know where to go, whether to my small hotel room or to hand this baby over to the authorities. I don't want to get into trouble, especially being a tourist.

I've decided to take him to the authorities when I hear shouts from men behind me and the noise of at least five vans. Fear invades me, and I think they're after this baby, so I have no choice but to run again. I've only gone a few meters when a van blocks my path. I think it's the end for us. A man gets out of the back, but due to nerves, I don't recognize him, also because tears blur my vision. I find myself surrounded by several men with long guns, and finally, when this man stands in front of me, I realize he's the same man from two days ago, and my soul sinks.

He says something to me in Italian, but I don't understand, so I explain that I only speak English and Spanish. One of his men acts as a translator the whole time. They demand that I hand over the baby I'm holding and explain what I'm doing with him. Without warning, the man approaches me and tries to snatch the baby from my arms, but I cling to him as if my life depends on it.

"Please don't hurt him. He's innocent!" I plead as more tears well up in my eyes. Then his man translates what I said, and he responds to me.

"My boss says please hand over the baby. He's the father of the little one, and we've been looking for him since we found out about the accident," He surprises me by saying this, but still, I can't trust his word.

"How can I know if you're not lying to me? I can't hand him over until you prove to me that he's his father," after talking to his boss and him shouting in frustration, he grabs my arm and shows me a photo on his phone of the baby, and indeed, I can tell it's the same baby I'm holding in my arms, and he looks quite happy in his father's arms.

"Alright, I'll give him to you," I pull my arm, and finally, this man lets go of me, but he held me so tightly that I'm sure I'll have a bruise where he was squeezing me tomorrow. I lift the jacket a little and I'm about to hand it over when I realize that the baby has his hand tightly gripped onto my sweater, making it impossible for me to open his little fist. Now I can see that he resembles his father like a little caveman. "Please, sir, can you extend one of your fingers?" when they inform him of what I just asked, he looks at me with a grimace and ignores what I said.

"Come on, I'm not going to bite his finger. It's just so the little one can hold his finger and let go of my sweater," I say exasperated by this man's attitude. After I finish saying that, he extends his hand, I take it, and slowly bring his huge finger closer to the baby's hand, who is sleeping peacefully in my arms. After a while, he takes his father's finger and lets go of me. When he has him in his arms, he looks at me with eyes wide, and shouts something to his men. I follow his gaze and realize he's looking at my beige sweater stained with blood.

"The baby isn't hurt. It's his mother's blood; I've already checked him, and he's fine. It's better not to uncover him since he's asleep and it's very cold right now; he might catch a cold," I explain to calm his men down, while I take off my sweater over my head (since I don't want to walk the streets with a blood stain; that would be terrifying), and instantly regret it, because I'm only wearing a very thin, tight blouse. I grab the sweater and throw it into a nearby trash can. Throughout this whole time, his men and he don't take their eyes off me, fearing I might have a bomb under the sweater. I take a scarf from my backpack and wrap it around my body to shield myself a little from the freezing air.