As Uno and Denise finished the last spoonfuls of the mushroom soup, a comforting silence hung between them. The soup had done more than just fill their stomachs; it had stirred something deep within Uno, a flood of memories that he hadn’t touched in a long time.
Denise glanced at Uno, noticing the faraway look in his eyes. “You know,” she said softly, breaking the silence, “we could always make more. If you’re up for it.”
Uno blinked, coming out of his reverie for a moment. “Yeah… I’d like that,” he murmured, his voice tinged with something Denise couldn’t quite place.
They both rose from the table, moving back to the small kitchenette. Denise began gathering more ingredients, but she noticed Uno was quieter than before, his movements slower, as if his mind was elsewhere.
“Are you okay?” Denise asked, her tone filled with concern.
Uno nodded absently. “Just… thinking about my grandparents. They used to make this soup all the time. My grandmother… she had these special tricks. I think I remember some of them.”
Denise watched as Uno started chopping mushrooms, his hands moving with a practiced ease. As he worked, memories began to surface, vivid and powerful, drawing him back to a time when he was just a boy.
---
Uno was standing in his grandparents’ cozy kitchen, the smell of mushrooms and herbs filling the air. His grandmother, a kind woman with gentle eyes and a warm smile, stood beside him, her hands guiding his as they prepared the soup together.
“Now, Uno,” she said, her voice soft and reassuring, “the key to a good mushroom soup is patience. You have to let the flavors come together slowly.”
Uno nodded eagerly, watching as she stirred the pot with a wooden spoon. “Like this, Grandma?”
“Exactly,” she replied, her smile widening. “You’re doing great, my dear. And remember, always add a dash of thyme at the end. It gives the soup a special touch.”
As they continued cooking, Uno’s grandfather entered the kitchen, his presence commanding yet kind. He was a tall man, always impeccably dressed in a suit, even at home. He walked over to the counter, picking up a small model of an ocean liner that Uno had been playing with earlier.
“Ah, there’s my little captain,” his grandfather said with a chuckle, holding the model ship up to the light. “You know, Uno, one day you might be on a ship like this, crossing the seas in style. And when you do, you’ll need a suit just like mine.”
Uno’s eyes lit up at the thought. “Really, Grandpa? You think I could be a captain?”
“Of course,” his grandfather replied, ruffling Uno’s hair affectionately. “You’ve got the heart of a sailor and the mind of a gentleman. Just like me.”
The warmth of the moment was abruptly shattered as Uno’s parents entered the kitchen. His father’s voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a knife.
“Uno, what are you doing in that suit?” his father snapped, his tone laced with disdain. “You look ridiculous! Take it off, now!”
Uno froze, his small hands trembling as he clutched the edges of his jacket. “But… but Grandpa gave it to me,” he stammered.
“I don’t care!” his father barked, grabbing Uno by the arm and yanking him toward the door. “You’re not going to embarrass us looking like that!”
“Please, don’t,” Uno pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper.
But his father’s grip only tightened, and before Uno could protest further, his father’s hand struck him across the face, sending him stumbling back in shock. His mother, standing nearby, said nothing, her face a mask of indifference.
