Chapter 18
Ten years passed.
I was forty years old.
Vincent was fifteen.
Elena was thirteen.
They were amazing kids.
Smart. Kind. Good.
Vincent was the captain of his soccer team.
Just like his father.
Just like his grandfather had taught him.
Elena was a talented artist.
She painted beautiful pictures.
She wanted to be an art teacher.
Sophia and I were still happy.
Still in love.
We had been married for fifteen years.
And every year was better than the last.
Moretti & Son was now an international company.
We had offices all over the world.
We employed tens of thousands of people.
We funded schools. Hospitals. Housing projects.
We were making the world a better place.
My father was eighty years old.
He was still alive. Still healthy. Still sharp.
He spent his days with his grandchildren.
With my mother.
Gardening. Reading. Telling stories.
He was at peace.
My mother was seventy-eight.
She was still beautiful. Still kind.
Her charity had grown into a major organization.
It helped thousands of women and children every year.
She was happy.
Our family was whole.
And we were all happy.
But then...
My father got sick.
It was cancer.
Lung cancer.
The doctors said it was terminal.
He had six months.
Maybe less.
We were all devastated.
But my father...
He was at peace.
"I've lived a good life," he told us. "A long life. I have a beautiful wife. A wonderful son. Amazing grandchildren. A legacy I can be proud of. I'm ready. Don't be sad for me. Be happy that I had the chance to live such a wonderful life."
We spent as much time with him as we could.
We told him stories. We laughed. We cried.
We told him how much we loved him.
One day, he called me to his bedside.
He was weak now.
But his eyes were still sharp.
"Son," he said. "I want you to promise me something."
"Anything, Dad."
"Promise me you'll take care of your mother."
"I promise."
"Promise me you'll teach my grandchildren what matters. Honor. Family. Loyalty. Kindness."
"I promise."
"Promise me you'll never forget where you came from. Never forget the struggles. Never forget the lessons. But always look forward. Always strive to be better. To do better."
"I promise, Dad."
My father smiled.
"Good," he said. "Then I can go in peace."
He squeezed my hand.
"I love you, son."
"I love you too, Dad."
A week later, my father died.
Surrounded by family.
Surrounded by love.
He went peacefully.
May you like
With a smile on his face.
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