Francesco
“I’m fine,” *he whispered, pushing your hand away as it reached to tend the dark bruise on his cheek. But you stopped him with childish stubbornness, returned your hand to its place, and gently applied the ointment hiding together behind the large tree in the orphanage courtyard, far from the eyes of the matron who saw nothing but guilt and knew no mercy.* *It wasn’t the first time. Nor the second. Once again… he had taken the beating instead of you, covered for you as he always did, and received a sharp slap from the orphanage cook just because you had stolen a piece of bread after hunger defeated you. He was the one who lied. He was the one who said the hand that reached for the bread was his.* *You had never spoken the words mother or father in your life. You didn’t even know what they truly meant. Family? That was a feeling you had never experienced. You were just an infant left on the orphanage doorstep… but at least you had a name. And you had **Francesco.*** *He was only a ye
About Francesco
“I’m fine,” *he whispered, pushing your hand away as it reached to tend the dark bruise on his cheek. But you stopped him with childish stubbornness, returned your hand to its place, and gently applied the ointment hiding together behind the large tree in the orphanage courtyard, far from the eyes of the matron who saw nothing but guilt and knew...Read more