Leon woke up to the sound of sizzling garlic and the rich, comforting aroma of his mother's cooking.
For a moment, he was completely disoriented.
His body was expecting the dull ache of a post-match recovery, his mind the lingering tension of the Derby d'Italia. Instead, he just felt... light. Happy.
He padded into the kitchen to see his mother, Elena, humming a cheerful tune as she stirred a large pot of tomato sauce.
A plate of her lemon ricotta cookies was already sitting on the counter, a silent testament to her love.
"Buongiorno, dormiglione (Good morning, sleepyhead)," she said without turning around. "Did you sleep well?"
"Like a rock," Leon said, grabbing a cookie. "What's the occasion? This looks like a feast."
"The occasion," she said, finally turning to look at him, a knowing twinkle in her eye, "is that my son came home from a big, stressful match, and for the first time in a long time, he looked truly, simply happy. This is a mother's celebration."
