She leaves behind her the gnarled trunks of the park that have failed to shake her reverie. The sound of her footsteps bounces against the melancholy of the castle rampart. At the bottom of the alley, just at the foot of the multicentennial tower, a very small child raises his eyes towards her black hood and points his finger towards her: "Grandma!".
The crystalline joy comes to cling directly in the chest of the passer-by who bites her lips. She waits until she reaches his level, and then offers him a broad smile, slightly tilting her head to console him for his mistake. She has just enough time to hasten her step so that he does not see the tear rolling down on her cheek.
She should be able to get over the fact that no one has ever called her Mom. But the thought that no one will ever call her Granny breaks her.
Without even thinking about it, she enters the coolness of the basilica and collapses. Her tears crash on the grey flagstones, right at the feet of the statue of the Virgin. As she gets up to return with small steps in her den, the orb of the candle continues to spread its prayer.