During our walk, Papa, Mylène, and I strolled peacefully through the narrow streets of Terracina. As we walked down Via Villa Franca, a small turn to the left led us to a peaceful little square lined with simple houses: Via Palestro.

There, Papa stopped dead in front of a modest, unmistakable house—a discreet façade, with towels spread out over the bench. His eyes suddenly filled with emotion, with stars, and in a whisper, he said to us:

« This is where... This is the first house my parents lived in. »

This small townhouse, full of memories, was where Papa lived for the first years of his life, surrounded by his two older sisters, Assunta and Silvana. Before the family settled on Via Santa Lucia, this was where his personal story began—on this peaceful street, under this familiar sky.

A suspended moment, filled with memory, tenderness, and the simple joy of reconnecting with one's roots.

Closing my eyes, I could almost experience the scene, imagining my grandmother, aunts, and father in the late 1930s while my grandfather must have been in the vineyard... At least, that's the scene I imagined.