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Pietro was a colleague who worked in

administration at the supermarket, always smiling, with slightly long dark hair, expertly disheveled.

To tell the truth I hadn't noticed him until his gaze had begun to lock onto mine, insistently. He had started saying hello to me, looking for opportunities to start a conversation with me. And

that’s where the first comments, the first veiled compliments began to arrive.

I listened, unaware, eager, pitifully in need of appreciation.

Strange, I must say, because my upbringing always prevented me from enjoying the unfamiliar feeling of being appreciated.

In my family compliments were a rare

commodity, then marrying Filippo had not changed the situation: he was such closed man that I often had the feeling that he didn’t even notice me.

But I had married him.

And now there was nothing to do, other than accept what the meal in front of me contains, without dreaming of other dishes.

Paying attention to Pietro's words was playing with disaster, I am aware of that, but as I listen to his words, every shadow inside my heart disappears in a flash.