"Even if I didn't see you for a hundred years," she said softly, her voice trembling with emotion, "I would still recognize you the moment you stood before me."
She paused, swallowing the lump in her throat.
"Because I'm your mother."
The words echoed through the silent living room, hanging in the quiet space between them.
A bitter, hollow laugh escaped Matteo's lips. "So…" he murmured, turning slowly to look his mother straight in the eyes. "You knew."
His mother gave a small nod. "I knew the moment you spoke. No matter how much you tried to sound like Mark, you're still Matteo. A mother could never mistake her own child."
"You recognized me," he muttered, a sharp edge of betrayal lacing his words. "Yet you still let me sit there pretending to be someone else. You sat there and watched me play a part."
His mother looked at him, her lips parting as if to defend herself, but no sound came out.
