The Price of Silence

📍 Setting: The Old House in Naples, Matteo’s Empty Room

👤 Time: Sunset, Just Before Departure for Florence

Matteo stood in the center of the room’s empty space. The floors and walls were dusty, the marks left by the furniture like the indelible scars in his mind. In his left hand, he held the sweat-stained Italian National Team jersey. It was no longer a badge of honor, but an piece of evidence.

Matteo gripped the jersey and whispered into the emptiness of the room. His voice was flat, cloaked in the cold composure that hid his emotional collapse.

Matteo: “This damn fabric... it was the biggest lie ever offered to me. The World Cup, the golden boots, the legends... Just a cruel joke God played on me. Not a great player, just a defective part.”

He lifted his head and looked at the wall. A dusty photograph, once full of cheerful faces, remained there. His former teammates.

Matteo: “You are all... laughing. Because you knew how stupid I was. I try to forget. What happened, that pitch, that woman... But this damn stitch in my chest aches more every time I remember. I don’t need any of you.”

Matteo’s inner monologue ended abruptly as his sister, Isabella, appeared in the doorway. In her hand was the bracelet he cherished, featuring the number 10, his former number.

Isabella: She leaned against the doorframe, lightly showing the bracelet. “You forgot this, Maestro. Are you sure you didn’t take anything else? You even left your number ten here.”

Matteo looked at the bracelet, but his gaze was empty. His voice was low and distant.

Matteo: “You’re so excited, I think you’ve forgotten about me, Isabella. Focus on your new life. That number and that title belong to someone else now.”

Isabella walked toward Matteo, not taking her eyes off him. Without waiting for him to unclench the fingers holding the jersey in his left hand, she gently placed the bracelet into his right palm. Her voice, unlike her previous cheer, was weary and sorrowful.

Isabella: “Take this bracelet yourself. You can only carry a body to Florence, Matteo. All those sleepless nights, the medication... A new life can’t start while they’re still here. Go and take yourself. Where you live is where you feel.”

From downstairs, his father Alfonso’s tired but definitive voice echoed:

Alfonso (Voice from a distance): “Matteo! Time to go! Come on! We’re not coming back.”

Isabella looked at the bracelet in Matteo’s palm one last time and quietly slipped out the door.

Matteo didn’t even notice the bracelet in his palm. He closed his eyes and took a long breath. Within him stirred a determination sharper than any emotional response.

Matteo’s Inner Voice: (Calm and absolute.) “I won’t forget. But I don’t need to forget. I just need to be strong enough not to feel this shame and pain.”

He walked out the door. Clenching the bracelet tightly in his right palm, he left his old life in Naples and the empty room behind.

Matteo descended the stairs, gripping the jersey in his left hand and the bracelet in his right. The corridor was muffled; his footsteps echoed off the empty walls.

His father, Alfonso, stood by the entrance, holding the last bag. His tired face bore the heavy toll of selling the family bar and rebuilding their whole lives. His mother, Elena, stood near the door, watching Matteo with worried eyes.

Alfonso: (Looking into Matteo’s eyes, his voice calm but firm.) “Everything is ready, son. Don’t look back. Florence will be our new beginning.”

Elena: (Approaching Matteo, holding her hand in the air, hesitant to touch his face.) “Are you alright, sweetie? The journey... it won’t be too hard, will it? Your medication is with you...”

Matteo maintained his cool composure against his mother’s worry. His eyes lingered neither on his mother nor his father.

Matteo: (Short and distant.) “I’m fine, Mom.”

Isabella intervened, trying to diffuse the tense atmosphere.

Isabella: “Come on, Mom. The Maestro is no longer so sensitive that he’ll have a heart attack from a car ride. There are much more interesting things waiting for us in Florence.”

Alfonso placed his hand on his wife’s shoulder and reaffirmed his resolve.

Alfonso: “Alright, Elena. Let’s go. Whatever belongs in this house will stay here.”

Alfonso opened the door. The last rays of the evening sun streamed into the empty corridor.

Matteo: (Looking toward his room one last time, softly.) “Let’s go.”

The family of four stepped outside, leaving the door to their old life in Naples behind. The door slowly closed after them.

Matteo, gripping the jersey in his left hand and the bracelet in his right, silently took the back right seat of the car. Alfonso was driving, and Elena was in the passenger seat. The engine started.

As the car slowly pulled away from the streets of Naples, Elena turned back from the front seat. Worry still clouded her face.

Elena: “It’s good that you kept your jersey, Matteo. Just... I don’t want you to get too tired. You know what stress did to you that day. Don’t worry about university. Just focus on being calm first.”

Alfonso looked at his son through the rearview mirror. His voice was deep but weary.

Alfonso: “Your mother is right. We sold that bar, we left this house behind... All for your peace. So there won’t be a chance of experiencing that final moment again.”

Isabella chimed in.

Isabella: “He’s still a football genius. He just needs rest. Don’t overdo it.”

Matteo gave his sister a brief glance. His voice was low, melancholic, and distant.

Matteo’s Inner Voice: (Calm, distrustful, and with a tired melancholy.) “A new city, new faces, a new university... Having to get to know all of them is already exhausting.”

He looked at the Number Ten bracelet in his palm. After gripping it tightly, he tossed the Italian jersey and immediately the bracelet into the gym bag next to him. His eyes closed, he took a long breath.

The car merged onto the highway leading to Florence. Naples quickly faded into the background.