She told me to wait on the bench… I only saw her again after years of torment.

Mom ordered me to wait on the bench… I didn’t see her again until years later My name is Nicolás, and I grew up in what seemed like an ordinary family, wrapped in love. My mother, Elena, and my father, Raúl, were inseparable. Dad worked as a supervisor in a factory in our small town of Santa Clara, while mom stayed at home to take care of me. I was their only child, and in those innocent times, I believed that nothing would ever change. But then, one day, everything fell apart like a house of cards. Dad was fired. I didn’t fully understand what that meant, but I noticed how he changed: he became withdrawn, dark, as if a black cloud had swallowed him. He quickly found another job, but the money evaporated like water in the desert. At night, mom’s shouting echoed through the house, accompanied by the crash of broken dishes during their fights. Their voices filled the air of the small apartment, and I would hide under the blankets, trembling, wishing for the chaos to end. And then came the blow that shattered my world. 

Dad found out that mom had been secretly seeing another man. It was a scene of terror: screams, heart-wrenching sobs, and the brutal sound of the door slamming when dad left. He abandoned us, me and mom, in a silence broken only by my pain. I missed him so much that I felt like my chest would burst. I begged mom to take me with him, but she would explode in fury: ""It’s all his fault, Nicolás! He betrayed us, he’s a miserable man!"" Her words cut like knives, but my heart couldn’t stop longing for dad. One morning, mom came to me with a smile that seemed to be from a distant memory. ""Pack your things, little one, we’re going to the beach!"" she exclaimed. My soul lit up – the beach! It was a dream come true. She was already filling an old, tattered suitcase, and I wanted to take my little trucks, but she stopped me: ""There, I’ll buy you new toys, much nicer ones."" I trusted her – she was my mother, my refuge. We arrived at the bus station. Mom bought the tickets and said we had time before departure, that we would make a stop along the way. We boarded an old bus that creaked and swayed with every bump. I looked out the window, imagining the beach, the waves, the sandcastles I would build. Finally, we stopped in front of a gray, rundown house, with peeling paint.

Mom told me to sit on a bench outside: ""Stay here, Nicolás, I’ll go get an ice cream. Wait for me and don’t move."" I nodded obediently, sat on the cold wooden bench, and began to wait. An hour passed, then another. Mom didn’t show up. The sun began to set, the wind turned chilly, and a deep fear gripped my chest. I watched the other windows light up, hoping to see her shadow with an ice cream in hand. But she didn’t come. Night fell like a heavy curtain, and I, a helpless child, was left alone in the dark. Tears burned my face, I called for her out loud, but my voice drowned in the nothingness. Exhausted by terror and the cold, I curled up on the bench and fell asleep. I woke up, but I wasn’t on the street. I was in a warm bed. I opened my eyes – the room was strange, unfamiliar. For a moment, I thought mom had returned for me and brought me here. ""Mom!"" I shouted, but the door opened and in walked… dad. Behind him, a woman I didn’t recognize. I jumped up, my heart racing: ""Dad! Where’s mom? She went for an ice cream and got lost! What happened to her?"" Dad sat next to me, his face hard, almost unyielding. He took my hand and spoke words that still echo in my soul: ""Nicolás, mom left you. She went away and won’t come back."" It was as if the ground had opened beneath my feet. I couldn’t accept it. Abandon me? Moms don’t do that! I cried rivers of tears, screamed that it was a lie, that she had promised to take me to the beach. But dad hugged me tightly and repeated, ""She’s not coming back, son."" It was a brutal truth, and he didn’t try to soften it. Years passed. Dad and I moved to another place, Villaesperanza. The woman who was with him was named Valeria. She was kind, though at first, I rejected her. Over time, I began to call her mom – not the one who left me behind, but a real mother who cared for me. My little brother, Diego, was born, and for the first time, I felt like I had a family – a warm home, without shouting or farewells. When I grew older, dad revealed more. It turned out that mom called the morning after abandoning me on that bench. She told him where she was and hung up the phone. They took away her rights as a mother, and I had no idea where she had gone. Life went on: we moved to a bigger house, I went to school, finished my studies, and entered university. I excelled in my classes, graduated with honors, and got a good job. Over time, my salary grew, and I decided it was time to become independent. Dad and Valeria helped me buy a small apartment in the center of Villaesperanza. 

She told me to wait on the bench… I only saw her again after years of torment.
I am Matteo. As a child, I believed my family was simple—fragile, perhaps, but filled with love and warmth. My parents, Clara and Lorenzo, seemed inseparable through my young eyes. Dad ran a small workshop in a quiet Tuscan village called Borgo San Vito, while Mom stayed home to care for me. I was their only child, and in my innocence, I thought our little world would last forever.

But one day, everything shattered like glass. Dad lost his job without warning. I didn’t fully grasp what that meant, but I noticed the change in him—his laughter faded, and silence settled over our home like a heavy fog. Though he found work again, money slipped through our fingers like autumn leaves blown by the wind. At night, I’d hear them fighting—Mom’s voice sharp, plates crashing, Dad’s silence growing louder. I would hide under the blankets, trembling, waiting for the storm to pass.

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And then came the final blow: Dad discovered Mom was secretly seeing someone else. Our home turned into a war zone—screams, tears, and slammed doors. When Dad left, the silence he left behind was unbearable. I missed him so much it hurt to breathe. I begged Mom to take me to him, but she snapped, “He left us, Matteo! That man is filth!” Her words cut deep, but they couldn’t erase my longing for my father.

One cold morning, she came to me smiling—a rare sight back then. “Pack your things, love. We’re going to the sea,” she said. My heart soared. The sea! It felt like a dream. As she packed an old suitcase, I asked to bring my toy trains. She stopped me: “We’ll buy new ones there, better ones.” I believed her—I trusted her. She was my mother.

We went to the bus station, crowded and noisy. After getting the tickets, she said we had time for a short detour. We boarded an old, rattling bus that jolted with every bump. I stared out the window, dreaming of waves and sandcastles. Eventually, we arrived at a worn-down building. “Wait for me on that bench,” she said. “I’m going to get ice cream. Don’t move.” I nodded and sat, watching her walk away.

Minutes dragged into hours. The sun set, the wind turned icy, and my hope slowly dissolved. I searched every window for her, waiting for her to return with ice cream. But she never came. Darkness fell. I cried out her name, but only silence answered. Eventually, I curled up on the bench, tears staining my cheeks, and fell asleep.

When I woke, I wasn’t outside anymore. I was in a warm bed in a strange, empty room. “Mom?” I called out. But the door opened and… it was Dad. Beside him stood a woman I didn’t know. I leapt from the bed, confused and panicked. “Where’s Mom? She went to get ice cream and never came back!”

Dad sat beside me, his face weighed down with sadness. He took my hand and said words that still echo in my heart: “Matteo, your mother abandoned you. She’s gone, and she’s not coming back.” I couldn’t believe it. Mothers don’t just leave. I sobbed, insisting he was wrong—she had promised me the sea. But he held me tight and repeated the truth: she was gone.

The years went on. Dad and I moved to Positano, a beautiful village by the sea. The woman with him was Giulia. She was gentle and patient. At first, I kept my distance. But slowly, she became someone I trusted—someone I started to call “Mom.” She wasn’t the one who left; she was the one who stayed. When my little sister Sofia was born, I finally understood what a real family could feel like—safe, warm, and whole.

As I got older, Dad told me more. Mom had called him the next morning after abandoning me. Her voice was cold, giving him the address before hanging up. The courts stripped her of parental rights, and no one knew where she went. Life moved forward. We found a bigger home, I excelled in school, graduated with honors, and built a career. Eventually, I bought my own apartment, with Dad and Giulia by my side every step of the way.

One stormy evening, I came home from work and saw someone sitting on a bench near my building. My heart froze. She looked up and said, “Matteo.” Then she added, “I’m your mother,” her voice barely above a whisper. She was older, unfamiliar, and suddenly the memories came rushing back.

I called Dad and Giulia. They arrived quickly, grounding me. Dad looked at me and said, “It’s your choice, son. Only you can decide if she deserves a place in your life.”
I looked at her—this stranger from my past—and felt nothing. No warmth. No connection. Just a hollow space where love should have been. The doorbell rang. She followed Dad inside, but I couldn’t stay silent.

“You’re not my mother,” I said. “I have a mom and dad—the ones who raised me, who were there when you left. I don’t know you. I don’t want your apologies. Leave, or I’ll call the police.” She cried, but I didn’t waver. She left, fading into the rain-soaked night.
I turned to Dad and Giulia, wrapped them in a hug, and whispered through tears, “I love you. Thank you for everything.” They were my real family—my foundation in the rubble. As for her? She became nothing more than a shadow in a chapter I had long since closed.
Don’t abandon your children. They didn’t ask to be born—you chose to bring them into this world. They deserve love, protection, and presence. I, Matteo, have lived that truth, and I carry its weight every single day.