He recalled the morning he realized the transition was final. He had walked past her room and saw her staring into the vanity mirror, painting her lips a shade of red that looked far too "grown-up" for his liking. He had felt a sharp, sudden pang in his chest—the realization that his little girl was being replaced by a woman he didn't quite know yet.
Marco closed his eyes. The melody wasn’t just music; it was a thief and a gift all at once. Adriano Celentano - Il Tempo Se Ne Va
The song swelled, the rhythm mimicking the steady, indifferent march of the clock. Marco sighed, a small smile tugging at his lips. He thought of the arguments about curfews, the boys he had glared at from the front porch, and the day he finally handed her over at the altar. He had spent so much time trying to hold back the tide of her growing up, only to realize that the beauty wasn't in the holding—it was in the watching. He recalled the morning he realized the transition was final