He asked for forgiveness to a God he wished closer, in earthly life always transposed trascendency, an internal dialogue for who always knew themselves as orphans. Forgiveness for not having been able to keep his promise. Commitment, help, understanding, comfort, trust, research, is this all Holy Matrimony? Intentions. Where there are intimacy, joy, projects, and where there are hands that caress a tense and shiny tummy, mental curves swallowing future. Since Claire had been with Claudio she'd always thought herself as a woman with a wiry shape, almost incompetent of swallowing future. Love is something yet different. Another home, not necessarily made of bricks. Claire wanted a family, she who had never had one, a normal one. She had been a particular case since she'd any conscience. And memory. Explaining to the other kids that she had a mother, but somewhere else, in the sky. Her father was there, somewhere else, far away. And there was her home, but non exactly hers, she lived with who took care of her. And her town was there, but somewhere else, because her roots were others. She found them in the warm stories made up for her by her relatives and adults. Warm like a winter fleece.