My name is Enzo Bianchi, I'm 32 years old and I'm a doctor specializing in pediatrics. I live in the capital of Italy, where my routine is divided between the hospital, city life, and managing the wineries I inherited from my grandfather, Lorenzo. He is my biggest supporter and one of the only people I truly trust. Lorenzo is a simple, kind man, and his calm demeanor always makes me feel secure.

My family is another story altogether. My mother, Donatella, is a woman who likes everything to go her way. Controlling, detail-oriented, with a strong personality that sometimes suffocates me, but which I have learned to respect over time. My father, Lorenzo Junior, is the opposite. He is fun, kind, and has a smile that can light up any room. But don't be fooled: when necessary, he knows how to be strict and firm, especially with serious matters.

My story is not simple. I have had many failures throughout my life, especially in the field of relationships. There were loves that didn't work out, friendships that turned out to be self-serving... All because of the Bianchi surname—a name that carries weight in Italy, and which, unfortunately, brings expectations and prejudices that only complicate life. But, for me, this name is just a word. What really matters is who I am, not what my surname represents.

Since I was young, my biggest dream has been to be a father. I don't care about money, nor the family's fame. I want something simpler, more real: to watch my child grow, to accompany him from the womb, to hear his first cry, to follow each ultrasound, to feel that unique connection that only a father can have. However, I haven't found the right woman yet, the one I could truly love, with whom I could share this dream. A woman whose eyes revealed her heart and soul.

The truth is, after so many frustrating attempts, I ended up giving up on the search for the woman of my dreams. But I never gave up on the dream of being a father. This is something that is rooted in me and that I do not intend to give up, no matter what happens.

Because of this, I spend a lot of time with children—I work in various orphanages, I participate in social projects to help the little ones who need it. I could simply adopt a child, but for me it's not the same. I want to feel every moment of the gestation, I want to follow life from the beginning, and this is something I cannot give up.

It was then that, on one of those days, my longtime friend, Betina, entered my life in a different way. We were at her house, talking about the future and reminiscing about our college days, our adventures, the plans we made when we were younger and believed everything would be easier. We were talking about life, dreams, disappointments, when the subject ended up falling on the question of finding someone to love.

"Oh, friend," Betina said, sighing, "I think my dream of finding a decent guy is dead."

I looked at her and smiled, trying to cheer her up.

"Be, you still have plenty of time to find the right person," I replied, with that tone of a worried friend, wanting to comfort her.

She laughed, but with a glimmer of sadness in her eyes.

"You say that, but what about you?" she asked, staring at me straight on. "Why don't you go after your dream? The woman of your life?"

I was silent for a moment. It was a question I avoided answering.

"You know I gave up on that," I said, somewhat awkwardly. "I just haven't given up on being a father."

Suddenly, Betina jumped up and, excitedly, exclaimed:

"Enzo! Enzo! Enzo! I had an idea!"

I looked at her, startled, not quite understanding what was happening.

"Woman, you must be crazy, you have to be. What's with this outburst?" I asked, half laughing, half worried.

She replied with the utmost seriousness:

"Friend, what if I lend you my uterus so you can have your child?"

I froze, trying to absorb what I had just heard.

"What do you mean, Betina? I don't understand," I said, still in shock.

"Let's go to an artificial insemination clinic," she explained, confidently. "Let's do the tests to see if I can carry your child. Since I'm not using this uterus anyway, I can help you realize your dream."

I looked at her, touched and surprised. I never imagined that anyone could do this for me, and even less someone as special as Betina.

"Betina, are you really willing to do this for me?" I asked, feeling a lump in my throat.

She smiled and nodded.

"Yes, friend. I want you to realize that dream."

We hugged, and at that moment I felt a mixture of joy, hope, and an emotion that could not fit inside me. For the first time in a long time, I felt that it might even be possible to be a father, without having to wait for an idealized love that might never come.

I didn't waste time. I started researching clinics, talking to specialists, and together, Betina and I, filed all the necessary paperwork. She would be my surrogate, my partner on this journey that was just beginning.

It was a new chapter in my life, full of challenges, but also of possibilities. And, for the first time, I felt that the dream of being a father could finally become a reality, no matter what came ahead.

My name is Luiza Moretti, I am 26 years old, and I am an assistant in a daycare center in the Italian countryside. I have worked there for a few years and, honestly, I can't see myself doing anything else. My world revolves around the children—those little hands dirty with paint, the desperate cries for attention, and especially those toothless smiles that save me on the worst days.

I am a simple woman, born and raised in a small village, where everyone knows everyone's life, and the smell of tomato sauce invades the streets on Sundays. My upbringing was not exactly common. I was raised by my nonna Giovanna, a typical hot-blooded Italian, owner of a huge heart—and a rolling pin that she swore she knew how to use as a weapon.

My mother—or as I usually call her, my mom—left me with my nonna when I was just two years old. She arrived one afternoon, put me in the arms of that strong and simple woman, and said only: "She's your granddaughter." After that, she disappeared as if she had never existed.

Nonna didn't think twice. Even living one of the most difficult moments of her life, she welcomed me. She had lost her only son—my father—just a year ago, in a tragic car accident. The pain was still fresh, but somehow, she saw in me a chance to breathe again.

I grew up hearing stories about my father. My nonna showed old photos of him—smiling, playing, young—and said he would have been a wonderful father. But, to be honest, I don't remember him. I never met him. I look at the photos, listen to the stories, but I don't recognize myself in those features. Sometimes I wonder if I carry more of the woman who left me than of that man everyone said was good. It's a doubt I keep to myself.

But if there is one certainty I carry, it is my nonna's love. She gave me everything. Love, values, care. She worked hard all her life to make sure I didn't lack anything—and even on the days when something was missing, she found a way. She was the one who taught me to cook, to respect others, and to get up on my own whenever life knocked me down.

I'm a bit hot-headed, I confess. I have a sharp tongue and often speak without thinking. When I'm nervous, I gesture so much with my hands that I've spilled more than one cup of coffee in bar fights. Sometimes I speak too fast, mix up the subjects, run over the words. But that's just a detail. Deep down, I'm a focused woman, down to earth. Suspicious, yes, especially with men.

I never really believed in this "prince charming" story. I've been involved with some men, but I always ended up discovering a betrayal, a lie, some disappointment. This only reinforced what I already suspected: I don't need a man to be happy. I can suffice myself. And I do.

It was then that, surrounded by the universe of children in the daycare center, this desire to be a mother began to grow inside me. At first, it was a light thing—a thought here, another there. But, over time, it became a real, alive, urgent desire. Seeing those children every day, holding those little hands, hearing those sweet little voices calling "Aunt Lu," touched me in a way I didn't expect.

But how to realize this dream without being married? Without even having a boyfriend?

Simple: independent production.

It was not an easy decision. I thought a lot before telling my nonna. She, with her traditional ways and giant heart, might not understand. But, to my surprise, she supported me immediately. "If that's what your heart wants, then go for it, my daughter," she said, holding my hands with teary eyes.

Since then, we started saving money. She went back to making sweets and cakes to sell at the town square fair—her famous cannolis and sfogliatelles disappeared from the stalls in minutes. And, even when I said I could take care of it myself, she always gave me "a few pennies," as she called it, to help with the "baby fund," as she proudly began to say.

Each coin saved, each sweet sold, each extra hour I worked at the daycare center, brought me one step closer to my dream. A dream that many people considered impossible, or even wrong. But I never cared what others think. Whoever lives according to what others think is right, ends up living a life that is not theirs.

Today, I am here, sitting in a clinic waiting room, with sweaty hands and a racing heart. It's the day of my first appointment. I will start the artificial insemination process.

While I wait, I look at my still empty belly and try to imagine what is to come. Fear? Yes, I have it. It's a lot for one woman. But I never had any doubts. I want to be a mother with all my heart. I want to feel my baby growing inside me, I want to hear his heartbeat for the first time, I want to follow each phase, each kick, each ultrasound.

This child—who has not even begun to exist—is already loved. It is already expected. It is already dreamed of.

And when he arrives, he will have a strong, determined mother, full of love. He will also have a nonna Giovanna with the rolling pin in her hand, ready to scare away anyone who approaches with bad intentions. He will grow up surrounded by good food, firm values, and, above all, affection.

I don't know what the future will be like. I don't know if it will be easy. But I know that, from today, my life begins to change.

And I am ready.

Enzo

After weeks of research, phone calls, and conversations, Betina and I finally chose the clinic. It was modern, received excellent reviews, and, most importantly, was discreet. We scheduled our first appointment to initiate the artificial insemination process. I barely slept the nights before. The anxiety hit me as if the future was right there, within reach.

On the way to the clinic, Betina was, as always, being... Betina.

"Are you anxious, Be?" I asked, eyes on the GPS and the traffic.

She huffed and crossed her arms, theatrical as ever.

"Anxious? No. I'm just hungry. Why didn't you let me eat?"

I laughed at her sulky face and replied in the most clinical tone possible:

"They’ll probably ask for blood tests. Fasting is essential to ensure the results. Afterward, you can eat a whole pizza, I promise."

"Okay, doctor. Future annoying dad" she said, mocking, but with a smile on her lips.

I chuckled and commented:

"Soon enough..."

That phrase lingered in the air. Soon enough. Soon enough everything would change.

We arrived at the clinic, filled out the paperwork at the reception, and sat in the waiting area. The environment was cozy, with light colors, soft music, and a faint lavender scent in the air. While we waited for the doctor to call us, my eyes wandered around the place, half distracted, until they stopped... on her.

A woman sitting alone, with a serene yet strong presence. She was short but possessed an immense aura. Her long, dark hair cascaded down to her waist. Her gaze was striking, profound, the kind that seemed to pierce through the soul. She wasn't smiling, but there was a sweetness to her, a quiet firmness.

For a second, I felt my heart skip a beat. And then, as if the universe wanted to play a trick on me, she looked in my direction. A quick glance, but intense. It was enough to throw me off balance.

"Enzo!" Betina's voice pulled me out of my trance. "Let’s sit over there, look, there are two seats."

I nodded and followed her, but I confess: the image of that woman lingered in my mind.

Luiza

The waiting room was beautiful, modern, but that didn’t stop me from sweating cold. My hands trembled, and my leg bounced compulsively. My heart raced so fast that I could barely breathe properly. It was my first appointment. The beginning of it all.

My grandmother wished me good luck with teary eyes and a kiss on the forehead. “Go on, my daughter. Your courage fills me with pride,” she said, and I took that phrase as my shield.

I looked around, trying to distract myself, when I saw him.

A tall man — very tall, he must have been nearly 1.95 — with dark brown hair, tousled in a natural way, eyes that seemed to change color in the light, between honey and amber. Tanned skin, a body of someone who took care of themselves. He looked like he stepped out of a perfume ad.

I stared for a few seconds until I noticed a beautiful woman calling him, pulling him by the arm. I quickly averted my gaze, mentally scolding myself. “Focus, Luiza! You're here for another reason.” I straightened my posture and fixed my eyes on the door.

That was when it opened.

"Mrs. Luiza Moretti?" called a friendly nurse.

I hurriedly stood up and was taken to a bright room where a doctor in a white coat awaited me. The name embroidered said: Dr. Maurizio Fabbri.

He smiled gently and invited me to sit.

"So, Luiza, let’s talk a bit. You intend to undergo artificial insemination, correct?"

I nodded and replied:

"Yes, doctor. It’s something I’ve been planning for a long time. I recently had blood tests; I have everything here..."

I handed him the folder with my tests. He reviewed it, made some notes, and after explaining the entire process to me, he requested updated tests. Ultrasound, hormonal tests, and evaluation of uterine health. All of this was necessary to ensure that my body was ready to create a life.

"We’ll do an ultrasound now to check the endometrium and ovaries, okay?"

"Sure" I responded, trying to contain my nerves.

I was led to an adjoining room. The examination was quick, painless. The doctor explained each image, showed me my ovaries, my uterus, and smiled with satisfaction.

"Your uterus is healthy, Luiza. Everything indicates that you are an excellent candidate for insemination."

I felt my eyes well up with tears. My heart exploded with joy.

"Thank you, doctor. This... this means the world to me."

He smiled kindly.

"We will support you with care. Soon, you’ll be nurturing your dream."

Back with Enzo and Betina

Minutes later, Betina was called. We entered the office together, where another doctor was waiting for us — Dr. Pietro Mancini, a specialist in assisted reproduction.

He greeted us with a firm handshake and a warm smile.

"So, couple... or rather, brave duo. Shall we begin the journey?"

Betina laughed loudly and replied:

"We’re not a couple, doctor. We’re long-time friends. I’m lending my uterus, he’s lending the genetic material. Simple as that."

Dr. Pietro chuckled and took our file.

"Very well. Enzo, I’ve seen your spermogram results; everything looks great. Betina, we need to assess your gynecological health, hormonal levels, blood pressure, family history. We’ll conduct a series of tests in the coming days."

She nodded, and soon we were taken to the examination room. Betina had her blood drawn, underwent a clinical examination, and was scheduled for a transvaginal ultrasound.

"Your body will be monitored through cycles, and as soon as your endometrium is optimal, we’ll proceed with the insemination" explained the doctor.

We left the clinic with a folder full of papers, prescriptions, guidelines, and our hearts brimming with anticipation.

"So, future dad doctor?" "said Betina, with that teasing spark in her eyes."

"I’m nervous, I confess" I responded. "But I believe it will work out."

As we exited the clinic, I couldn’t help but search for that woman from before with my eyes. She was no longer there. Only the memory of the gaze that pierced through me like a lightning bolt remained.

Little did I know that fate was just beginning to play with our lives.