The Thread of life

"Mateo, Mateo! Look here!"

At that request, the young champion turns toward the paparazzi and smiles, holding tightly the hand of her companion who does not hesitate to show the big engagement ring given to her by the boy: getting visibility, even more. The girl's smile grows wider when she realizes that the photographers' attention is all on her-she is the star of the moment, not Mateo!

"When is the date? " asked one, "Congratulations, guys!" said another. Being very reserved Mateo did not answer and waved that he should enter the club, but that was Nadia's chance and she did not waste a single second and held back the footballer to answer the reporters' questions:"Quickly, very soon! Rob and I are very happy and there will be nothing or no one that can separate us, right mi amor?"

the young soccer player stiffens but tries not to give it away; he hates that nickname and that "Mi amor" reminds him of another person. A person who has always been on his mind and in his heart, but is slipping away from him at that moment.

"Mi amor, never leave me." A promise he had made but apparently had not kept.

From a distance Rafael signals to him that he must join him and his family, waking the 30-year-old from his own thoughts.

No, this is no time to be sad.

He holds his companion's hand tightly and walks toward his brother, ready to receive that award that would place him alongside soccer's greats forever. Because all the sacrifices made by his parents, his unnatural passion for football led to all this.

The fame, the glory, the happiness: it is all deserved.

But it wasn't always so easy, and as he steps onto that stage a trail of memories runs through his mind, making him travel into the past.

And that same journey is the one we will take as well.

From an early age Mateo was taught to fight for his dreams, since they certainly would not be the ones knocking on his door, and for that he thanked his parents whenever possible for not allowing him to give up, even when things got complicated.

Mateo was a lively child like many, but with an extreme desire to become a soccer player; he was obsessed with the ball, so much so that he wanted to play soccer at school, on the street, and even at home, of course when Mama Rosa was not around.

His favorite role? Goalkeeper.

So when he was four years old, he asked Santa Claus for a pair of goalkeeper's gloves, and from there his passion only increased.

Seeing him so taken with the sport, Ignacio and Rosa decided that, a few years later, they would enroll the child in the "Little Friends" team of their small town, where Mateo would learn so much and prove to the coaches that he was already a marvel despite his very young age. The parents were so proud of him and even though they worked so hard to support their children they always tried to be there for them in everything from the good to the bad.

So, after enthusiastically recounting his first adventure in the world of soccer, Mateo ran to his little brother's playpen born a few years earlier to tell him about everything he had done as well, also explaining why the role of the goalkeeper was important: "He does everything to defend the goal from enemies, Rafi!" he explained happily, "He is a hero!"

Perhaps it was a somewhat childish view of the goalkeeper, but the idea of having to defend the goal thrilled him, motivated him, and made him feel, indeed, like a hero: the goalkeeper is the most important defender, and this view would help him long into his football career.

Ignacio laughed upon hearing those words and took his older son in his arms, tickling him and filling him with kisses. His son was growing well, he was loved and, most importantly, he was happy. Mateo looked at those eyes he inherited from his father and smiled broadly, clutching his parent who was a little confused by that show of affection. "Are you okay?"he asked him and the child nodded, "Yes, Dad, I just wanted to say thank you to you and Mami for everything you do for me". Ignacio's heart skipped a beat at his son's words and he was so proud that after putting the children to bed, he told his wife about it.

"He will go a long way, I'm sure." He thought before falling asleep, with Rosa close to him.

-

"You will never be able to parry one of my super cannons! You're just a Chick and you'll never be able to compete with me"

Mateo put on a pout at that provocation and looked at his older friend who crossed his arms over his chest superciliously.

Davìd was sure that Mateo would not be able to parry his blows and he would prove Dad Ramón right, after the latter heard Ignacio singing Mateo's praises while working at his brother's bar-because an extra income always comes in handy-.

Mateo, who was now ten years old, was tempted to accept the challenge (probably out of pride) but Rafael, seven, tried to dissuade him, dragging him away from the field to convince him that it was time to go home.

"Tatu, watch me tell Edo!" whined the younger one who threatened to tell his brother's coach all about it.

"Go home!"

"Tatu...!"

"Rafael stay or leave!"

Concerned about his brother, Rafael decided to stay and he was not the only one: many children heard the challenge issued by Davìd and stayed to see who would prevail.Mateo trembled slightly. The idea of facing an older child somewhat terrified him, but as Ignacio always told him: "you always have to overcome obstacles head-on" And so he mustered up his courage, took out his new gloves (his other ones were tight on him, so Mom and Dad had decided to give him a new pair). The children waited for the janitor to leave to fetch his usual afternoon coffee and got ready, watching Mateo head determinedly toward the goal and Davìd in the box setting up the ball nicely: Mateo was so slender and fragile, there was no way he could parry his shot.

What Davìd did not know was that the child felt strong, a lion who would face any difficulty.

Besides, he had to show the "big kids" that he was not afraid of big guns at all.

"Look, if you want to retreat you can", shouted the 13-year-old to be heard by the goalkeeper who shook his head and the little boy shrugged. Then he concentrated and kicked the ball as hard as he could; the children gasped at how strong that shot was and how fast that ball was spinning. It looked like a scene from that Japanese Anime about soccer!

There were those who swore that the goalkeeper would never make it, those who said to be quiet.

But Mateo was focused.

He flew to catch that ball: it was as if he had wings and they spread out to allow him to retrieve the ball.

And he did.

For a moment, before he let it go and screamed in pain: his right shoulder had slammed hard against the post and as the child fell to the ground he heard a "crack!" that made him scream. Screaming with him was his little brother, who, frightened, approached Mateo and called out to him several times, crying; the eldest screamed with all the voice he had in his body and all the children, including Davìd, ran to surround him to see how he was; the little goalkeeper was crying, screaming and made the other children panic and look at each other confused, not knowing what to do.

Only Rafael had the courage to wipe his little face, stop sobbing, and stand up to go to Uncle Pau's bar, and on the way he finally met the janitor, Santiago, who was confused to see the child still on the street alone without Mateo.

"Hey little one, what are you doing all alone? Where is your brother?"

How was Rafael going to tell him that his brother was hurt because of Davìd and that all the children were at the playground, secretly, even though practice had been over for a few hours and the coaches had made sure that the children would go home right away?

What would Eduardo have said to Tatu, would he have scolded him?

Would Mami and Papa, on the other hand?There were so many questions in the little boy's mind that in panic and confusion he burst into tears, sending Santiago into a fit of tears, who approached him to reassure and comfort him; it was only in that way that he wrested a confession from the child, and the janitor decided to run to the bar to call the two children's uncle. He knew that he himself would get into trouble-how was it possible that he had not noticed anything? - But at that moment he cared little. A child was suffering.

"Ramon? Have you seen Pau?"

"What are you still doing here, did you fight with Linda?" Ramón patted the janitor on the back before noticing the presence of little Rafael who was still sobbing. Santiago explained everything to Davìd's father, who angrily headed toward the playground so he could scold his son. Attracted by all the yelling Ignacio came out of the kitchen and saw the little one of the family futilely trying to wipe his tear-moistened face.

"My God, Rafael! What has happened? And where is your brother? "

Intimidated by the parent's possible reaction, the child resumed crying, once again forcing Santiago to intervene and tell all that had happened.

"What?!" shouted the young father, angry. On his forehead appeared that vein that Rafael knew well and he ran to hide behind Uncle Pau who had just entered.

Without another word, Ignacio walked out of the club and like Ramón just before, he walked briskly toward the soccer field.

"Mateo, can you make it up? I'll take you to the hospital"

"How can you accompany him if you're on a bike? Besides, it's all your fault, Davìd! You wanted to bully him and now look, he's in bad shape"

"Yes, you are a bully"

"Bully!"

"I am not a bully!" shouted the 13-year-old to defend himself from all those attacks "Mateo is my friend, I would never dare to hurt the little ones. Mother says we are all brothers, and since I am grown up now, I have a duty to protect them". And indeed it was so: from that moment on Davìd would protect, advise the younger one just like an older brother.

But at that moment the child was crying in pain and wished with all his heart to tell those children to shut up, that no one was to blame and that he did not want anyone's help.

"You are a gift from Our Lord, Mateo" his mother once explained to him "and your name means just that: Gift from God. You are a special child because in addition to giving yourself to us God has given you the strength to face anything. And always do it, my son, with a smile if you can. You are strong, never forget it"

So he appealed to that strength: he called her and she answered, setting aside the excruciating pain felt by the child. He wiped his face, stood up, and finally there was silence around him. Incredulous, his friends made room for him but continued to watch him worriedly as he tried to give them the calmest smile he could show.

He was strong, he, like a lion. And just like a lion he was going to face that obstacle, get out of the field and...."Mateo!"

That voice made him lose his newly hard-won courage.

It was Papa!

Ignacio hurriedly advanced toward his son and the streak that had so frightened Rafael earlier was gone, leaving room for concern on the man's face.

He knelt in front of the child and asked him in a quiet tone if he was all right, and the son shook his head softly; then he looked around, studying every face present but not finding his brother's.

"Raf-.."

"He's at the bar. Come on, I'll take you to the hospital"The tone of voice had become cold and stern, a sign that despite everything Ignacio was really angry. "Then we'll talk, you and I".

"Mateo did what?!"

Rosa's screams made everyone in that hospital waiting room turn around. Her husband politely asked her to lower her voice while her son kept his gaze down, having realized he had done it. Edoardo, his coach, put his hand on his knee to reassure him even though moments earlier he had told him he was disappointed, too. "You are destined to do great things, Mateo" said, "don't ruin yourself as of now by doing stupid things"

"But he had challenged me!" exclaimed the child defensively, snatching a smile from the young man who ruffled his hair. "We have to choose our challenges, Teo. Look where this one has brought you! Now, if you're not careful, you'll carry this pain forever and no longer be a hero to your team. Is this what you want, little man? "

Of course it isn't!

He was a hero and, as such, he had to protect his goal and his team. Although... he had to admit that there was a sense of happiness and pride in him: he had beaten Davìd. Him! Who wouldn't have been happy?

Certainly not his mother, who despite being on duty in another ward of the hospital asked the doctor if she could assist her son and take the opportunity to scold him. "But what were you thinking, huh! Did you want to kill yourself by any chance? Look what you've done! Don't think you're getting away with it just because you have a fractured shoulder, Mateo Roberto Garcìa. And you even got your brother involved!"The child's eyes filled with tears not so much from the pain but from the words expressed by his mother: he had let Mami down and that was the last thing he wanted to do. He tried to sob silently as he was examined by the doctor who diagnosed a fracture in his shoulder: fortunately, the child did not require surgical treatment but only immobilization with a brace for a month and a half.

A month and a half without playing soccer. Mateo would have gone crazy!

He bit his lip so as not to vent the frustration he was feeling at that moment, and on the drive home he remained in religious silence as his father explained that he was going back to the workshop and to wait for Rosa at Pau's place, since the woman had not yet finished her shift and Rafael was at his uncle's.

As he walked toward Uncle Mateo's café he tried not to listen to his thoughts, rather he tried to focus on those daily noises of his small town: Mrs. Alba shouting after her nephew, Mrs. Juana probably baking Mr. Aurelio's bread who, for who knows what absurd reason ate bread only in the evening.

He knew by heart every voice, every noise and every corner of that small town. He loved that little town and loved the people who lived there.

"Mateo?"

He looked up when he heard Davìd's voice, and it approached him somewhat hesitantly "Are you all right?" he asked.

The younger man nodded, thanked him for being concerned and reassured him, telling him that it was no one's fault. "These things happen. Besides, you said it: you are my brother and you would never hurt me on purpose"

------ Italy, thirteen years earlier

"Yaye, it's a girl! And she is beautiful".

Babacar was so happy to hold his precious baby girl in his arms as he cuddled her and talked to her mother on the phone.

The woman, who was on her way to Italy from Senegal, giggled as she heard her son's happy tone and she too looked forward to being flooded with that happiness.

"Have you chosen a name yet? Have you told your Toubab that she has to wait a week for the christening? And that -"

"Yaye!"

"What is it, son? I'm leaving in an hour, see that she doesn't do anything stupid. I don't like that woman and she will do anything to take the child away from our Ada and Thiossane"

Fatou did not like Maria. Not because she was European, but simply because the woman was frivolous, superficial she was with Babacar only out of interest; he was a talented 28-year-old boy, an aspiring musician who was slowly making a name for himself in Italy, and perhaps that was what had attracted Maria.

"A twenty-three-year-old runaway girl who doesn't even know how to cook what is she doing with a wonderful boy like my son, you explain? "

"Mom, what time is your flight you said? Are you already at the airport?"

"Ah! Am I "Mom" now, son? She's there, isn't she?"

As if she sensed all that tension, the newborn began to fidget and was only calmed by hearing her father's voice as he hung up the phone to devote himself to his Little Princess.

"How old are you today, Sofia? "

Clumsily, the little girl tried to show her four fingers to her grandmother and laughed before she was distracted by the soap bubbles she hunted, laughing lightheartedly.

Her granddaughter was happy in spite of everything: her parents' fierce divorce was still going on, and Fatou feared that the child would be scarred by it; however, this did not seem to be the case, at least for the time being.

Babacar joined her and sat by her side, not letting the child out of his sight for even a second.

"She is so beautiful. She really looks like a princess, doesn't she, Yaye? "

"Babacar I have to tell you something very important about your daughter". The tone used by the woman made the boy worried and he immediately turned to look at his mother with a furrowed brow.

"Yaye?"

"When I was younger, your grandmother told me something. I didn't pay much attention to it because she wasn't well in her mind, but by observing little Sofia I understood what she meant.

My mother told me that we came from an unusual family and that almost every member had a special gift. However, this was interrupted with her who, because of this gift, became insane and was ostracized by everyone. The truth is that the gifts skipped two generations-mine and yours, yours and your brothers'-and found refuge in her, Babacar"

"Yaye but what are you talking about! This is nonsense, you can't believe it too"

"I do believe it. Because everything your grandmother told me came true"

"What did she predict about Sofia? "

"Don't worry, son, Sofia will not be ostracized like my mother. On the contrary, she will be loved by many. "A fair-skinned child will be born into our family and will be blessed with three gifts: she will have the voice of a mermaid, she will see the future, and she will be able to cross this world to travel to the world of Dreams, to live it and to realize it." Your daughter is special, no one in the family has these gifts!"

Babacar grew gloomy. He had run away from beliefs and magic because he knew how dangerous that world could be and he certainly didn't want his daughter to be part of it.

No, he didn't have to.

"You must never mention it to her"he said in a cold tone.

Fatou did not respond; she just watched the child play quietly. Neither of them guessed that the powers were slowly manifesting, and the older the child grew, the stronger they became.At seven years old, she had her first taste, foreseeing her estrangement from her father because of her mother. It was an unforgettable moment for the little girl who began to realize her grandmother's words. Maria had done everything in her power to destroy their family by alienating Sofia from her Senegalese relatives.

"Mom?"

The woman, disinterested, looked at the little girl with the honey-colored eyes - totally different from her own "beautifully blue" the woman's own words - who approached her holding her inseparable stuffed animal in her arms.

"What do you want?" she asked almost in disgust. Her daughter's curious eyes, however, did not stop shining and made Maria shiver at how big and beautiful they were - like those of a helpless fawn.

"We went away from Dad because Grandma says I'm special, right? "

"Special? You?"she taunted the daughter and resumed painting her toenails, totally ignoring the little girl's question "Your father is a jerk, he doesn't know how to take care of me. I don't need a jerk like him, least of all your nutty grandmother"

"What does it mean... "jerk"?"

"Sofia don't stew me! Go away and play and leave me alone!"

The little girl repeatedly wondered why Maria treated her that way; she simply had no idea.

She locked herself in her room to play with her cloth friends while her curious young mind filled with questions about her mother's behavior toward her. She saw mothers at school coming to pick up their children and saw these children happy to be loved by them, as if it were the most natural thing in this world.

Motherly love.

What was that?

A question that would haunt the young woman for a long time, who was almost forced to celebrate her tenth birthday alone with no friends and no parents (her mother was supposed to go out that night and had not even wished her a happy birthday); the only gift she received was a guitar from her father who had returned permanently to Senegal because "living in Italy without being able to see you hurts me too much" and because he had become the guitarist of a renowned Senegalese singer. Sofia eagerly unwrapped the gift, read her father's note, which she jealously kept with the others, and smiled sadly. She had never had the opportunity to celebrate her birthday with both parents, and although she knew it would be impossible, she imagined it: she imagined her mother baking a delicious cake for her and her friends, her father organizing silly games for the participants, and her grandmother showering her with gifts and cuddles.

Every child's dream, right?

She curled up on her own bed with the guitar next to her and fell asleep, tears streaming down her face.

"Who are you?" she tilted her head to the side when she saw that child with his back turned who was looking around confused.

He had fallen asleep a few minutes ago in his bed with Rafael who kept talking in his sleep. And now he was in a strange place and a female voice was asking him who he was.

Mateo turned toward it and with a furrowed brow looked at the little girl with a face framed by thick unruly curls and big doe eyes.

Who was that little girl?

He approached her and saw that she was moving away as she clutched that stuffed animal tightly against her chest and her eyes, startled, became glazed over.

"Are you afraid of me?" asked the child.

Sofia nodded slowly and kept retreating: that was a stranger in her world! What was he doing there? Only she had access to it and sometimes so did Nonna who taught her to concentrate on calling people - or objects. She had not called him, though; she did not even know who he was!

She carefully studied the stranger's green eyes and out of curiosity took a few steps forward toward him to touch his arm: in response, Mateo touched the tip of her nose which curled up and the little girl laughed.

"Today is my birthday!" she exclaimed, after driving away the fear that gripped her.

Mateo smiled tenderly and sang "Happy Birthday" to her, only to remember that two days earlier was her brother's birthday.

What a crazy coincidence!

"Happy birthday! But...what's your name? "

"Sofia!"

hearing those screams, she knew she had done something.

In three years, her mother's behaviour had worsened and she made it clear that she did not want any mother-daughter relationship with Sofia. Maria was a woman in her thirties now who had never shown any interest in life as a wife and mother, but welcomed with open arms anyone who offered her a worldly life. Beautiful as hell, the woman went from one (rich, of course) man to another, completely forgetting about her daughter's needs.

But Sofia did not care.

At thirteen she had learned to fend for herself and thanks to her father's support she had nothing to complain about. All she needed was to keep in touch with him, who, when he could, gave her guitar lessons from a distance and let her talk to her grandmother, who never forgot to remind her of her origins and her lessons.

How could she forget them? She had practised so much in the World of Dreams that she could materialise her beloved guitar, her books and sometimes she would imagine so intensely the character of a particular book that she would find it in front of her!

The only one she could not call was her father, and that displeased her. Babacar loved her terribly, but as Fatou had explained to her, he had lost touch with magic, completely removing her from his life.

"He must not know that I told you the truth. Okay?" she nodded slowly and hugged the elderly woman.

"I called you half an hour ago. Where were you? Always playing that stupid guitar! "

She was tempted to give vent to her pre-adolescent anger but the 13-year-old held back and remained silent to endure her mother's lecture. As Maria spoke, Sofia's mind began to wander, thinking about things that made her feel good: music.

Thanks to her father, music had become her world, her companion and perhaps the only one who stood by her in times of need. The rest didn't matter when she was playing, singing or simply listening to Music. It was as if the two of them were there and --

"Sofia Alima de Francesco!" jolted upon hearing her name associated with her mother's surname and her cheeks flushed, showing her current state of mind.

"Mom! My surname isn't de Francesco, it's Diouf! "she said.

"You dare to contradict me, brat? " Maria, with a threatening air, approached the girl. She grabbed her by the collar, slapped her and pushed her, causing the young girl to fall, who began to tremble realising what was going to happen next. It had been like this for years, beatings during the day and beatings at night; yet Sofia remained silent when they asked her at school about the bruises she could not hide, because they might have been on her face or hands.

How could she say it was her mother who beat her up?

"You are a fool if you think you can disrespect me. Your surname is de Francesco and that's it. You're under my roof, you'll call yourself whatever I want and do whatever I say. And if you ever try to disrespect me again, you little brat, I swear I'll throw that guitar you're always strumming in the rubbish. Now get up, I have to get ready, Luca is on his way"

Staggering, she got up and tried to escape to her room, crying. Those bollards hurt and she cried, forcing her to sob against her pillow.

What had she done wrong to deserve this? Why couldn't her mother see her as a daughter, why did she mistreat her?

Why did she not love her?

She sat down and violently pinched the skin at the level of her collarbone until she felt the small flap of skin tear and throb from the pain; she let it be and moved her fingers close to it, repeating the operation to soothe the sadness, the anger. She hated her mother and pinched herself often to keep from shouting it in her face.

She curled in on herself, hugging her knees and squeezing them tight, almost as if she wanted to crush her ribs.

She tried to close her eyes in order to forget that day, Maria's heavy words that were unfortunately difficult to erase from her mind; but Sofia fought with all her might to eliminate those demons until she won by falling asleep.

Her world was different from a few years earlier: a bit more colourful, always fresh and what was never missing, of course, was the music, which remained in the background.

However, the girl did not feel like calling anyone. She wanted to be alone and concentrate on the music, so she closed her eyes and tried to transport that sweet melody into the real world, so she could always play it.

"Fawn Eyes?"

She didn't know that voice, and with a furrowed brow, Sofia opened her eyes curious as to who she would find in front of her.

Did she really know that boy?

He was tall - taller than her for sure - with short, curly, raven hair and eyes of an emerald green that seemed unreal. No, she had never seen him. Maybe it was the character from the last book she had read?

"It's me, Mateo!"

The girl's forehead remained furrowed until she remembered that child who on her seventh birthday made her feel like the happiest child in the world.

She had lost sight of him, however. After that visit Mateo had never come again, leaving the girl feeling abandoned until she forgot about him.

"Mateo...?" she asked incredulously.

The red eyes from countless crying dilated and the thirteen year old felt the need to jump on top of him to hug him; the boy was surprised by that gesture but couldn't help but giggle and stroke that mane, wrinkling his nose. Those simple gestures made Sofia's heart beat fiercely as she could not and could not explain exactly what was happening to her. Because despite that strange feeling she felt good, she felt wanted and protected.

Was this perhaps the meaning of 'affection'?

Since she no longer saw her father, it had become difficult for the girl to give meaning to that word. It was something she never felt, neither at home nor at school: Maria despised her and she had no friends.

Apart from Mateo.

It was as if the boy had an alarm that warned him when Sofia was sick. How had he appeared in her time of need for the second time?

The thirteen-year-old girl clung to the boy in silence for quite a while: she was so well that she wanted to stay that way for the rest of her life. But that would have been... embarrassing for her and maybe for him too.

Suddenly she turned away from the young man, looked down and began to torture her hands. Mateo, for his part, found the girl so tender that he couldn't help stroking her hair again. He could not explain why he had done it either, but he had just felt the need. His heart skipped a beat as he saw her clench into herself and keep her gaze down, as if she were hiding something: no, that was not the Sofia he had known long ago.

Something had happened and he absolutely had to find out what.

"Hey, little one" touched her shoulder and those big eyes worked their magic, making him lose his breath. He shook his head slowly and bit his lower lip before resuming speaking: "What's going on, why are you so sad?"

The little girl lowered her head again as in her mind fought the Little Angel and the Little Devil who are usually depicted one on her right shoulder and the other on her left, perhaps representing the heart and rationality, confusing her whether to tell the boy the truth or not. Could she trust him? Maybe he had only asked her out of politeness, not because he really cared how she was. But the boy's green eyes screamed honesty and Sofia decided to trust him: she told him everything, from her father who had decided to return to Senegal to her mother's abuse, physical and psychological. In fact, the girl hid her hands in the handles of that sweatshirt and shrugged her shoulders to avoid being seen by the boy who felt his own heart break for the first time.

What mother could treat her daughter like that?

He clenched his fists in anger and clenched his jaw at that thought. But being angry with Sofia's mother was of little use, he had to think of a way to lift the little girl's spirits. After all, he had a brother the same age as her, maybe it would be easy.

"Why don't we think of good things, Fawn Eyes?" she asked, giving her a sweet smile.

Confused, the little girl slightly parted her lips, not knowing what to reply.

"Something nice?" she thought.

"What makes you happy?" the young Catalan asked again.

Sofia thought about it for a while and smiled before singing "Hey Jude" by The Beatles, the only song that came to her mind at that exact moment. Mateo gasped as he heard her sing and blushed with emotion. Her voice sounded like the sweet call of a siren (not the mythological monster, but the lovable creature the world has taught us to love) and he couldn't help it.

He had never heard such a pure voice, and it was only a thirteen-year-old girl singing!

It amazed him even more that, after she also sang Led Zeppelin's 'Stairway to Heaven', he clapped happily.

"Mi Dios, you're great! Congratulations! "

All of the girl's confidence disappeared because of all those compliments, and like a frightened turtle, she hunched her shoulders for the umpteenth time, hunching over.

But she smiled. Sadly, she was smiling though.

"Dad says that when I was born, the first thing he did was make me listen to music"she explained, "it's something that's been with me since birth and it's the only one that hasn't left yet...

Dad is in Senegal, Grandma is gone, for Maria I don't exist. But Music is always here to console me when I am sick; to laugh with me or get angry with me. She is a mother, a father, a brother or a sister. It is part of me and I hope I never lose it.

Singing is the only way I can thank her and it seems the least I can do, you know? "

Mateo was amazed at how mature a thirteen year old girl was. He, at her age had - still has - a head for the ball and Rafael only thought about playing and making trouble!

But perhaps it was the different environments in which they had grown up that had such a strong impact on their behaviour: Sofia, despite her young age, was forced to embrace responsibility and maturity at an early age, while he and his brother had nothing on their shoulders and were able to grow up quietly, thanks to the family's tranquillity.

A sense of sadness pervaded the young man who this time lowered his gaze and released that tight fist just now. Sofia, sensing his thoughts, put a hand on his shoulder to reassure him. And this time it was she who smiled at him, a smile that would remain etched in the sixteen-year-old's mind for a long time.

"Uhm...I have to go" he murmured with embarrassment.

"You promise you'll come back? "

That question hit him full in the chest and the boy smiled nodding, before holding out his little finger to her.

"I promise, Fawn Eyes."