That night, Irene sat inside the shack, sewing a torn piece of cloth. Her needle moved slowly through the fabric, her posture calm. Carlo was there too. He had come home in the evening, exhausted from his day's work.
But something about his sister caught his attention.
She seemed… lighter today.
Happier.
It was a good thing, It made him curious.
"Irene"
"Hmm?" she replied without looking up.
"You seem happy today."
"Have I?"
She still didn't look at him.
Her eyes and hands stayed focused on the torn cloth, sewing carefully.
The needle slipped through the cloth with a soft, steady rhythm. Each stitch was gentle, almost delicate, as if Irene's fingertips were dancing rather than sewing.
There was no rush in her movements, no tension in her shoulders, no shakiness from sadness or exhaustion.
Even the torn cloth seemed to understand it. If it could feel anything at all, it would know the girl sewing it was in a good mood today.
Her hands moved with a lightness she rarely had… as if happiness itself guided the thread.
"Did something happen?" Carlo asked, smiling knowingly.
"What do you mean?"
"Irene," he said softly, "I'm your brother."
At that, Irene finally lifted her gaze.
She watched him quietly, unsure if she should tell him about the friend she had made today.
"…I just felt happier," she said at last.
Carlo studied her expression carefully. It was clear something had happened. Something good.
But if she didn't want to talk about it
and if it didn't seem harmful
he wouldn't press.
Carlo cleared his throat lightly and tried again, choosing a simple topic to avoid pressing Irene too harshly.
"I heard a new bakery opened around the corner,"
"Is that so…?"
Carlo leaned back a little, letting his gaze drift up toward the wooden ceiling of their small shack. It had been a long time since he had seen his sister this cheerful, everything about her tonight felt lighter. He wished it could be like this every day.
The realization made something twist inside him, an understanding that their daily lives had become so quiet, so heavy, so filled with worry that moments like this felt rare.
"I was thinking, "
"Speaking of the bakery!"
Irene suddenly burst in, cutting him off with an excited shout. Carlo blinked, startled by her sudden energy.
Before he could respond, Irene stood up quickly. She hurried over to one of their drawers and pulled out a small cloth bag. The chocolate bag she had received earlier.There were still leftovers inside, saved carefully rather than eaten all at once. He watched her, curiosity rising, as she turned back toward him with a brightness in her eyes.
Irene approached him and held out the bag with both hands.
"Here. For you."
Carlo looked at it, puzzled.
"What is it?"
"You're supposed to open it and find out!"
Irene said with a proud, almost teasing smile.
That alone was enough to make Carlo's heart soften. He accepted the bag gently, unable to hide his curiosity anymore. Untying the cloth, he opened it slowly.
Inside, the chocolates had melted a little more than before, sticking together in soft, uneven clumps, but still very much chocolate. Still very much identifiable. The moment he opened the bag, a warm and sweet scent drifted up into the air, rich and comforting, a smell that seemed almost out of place in their tiny, worn-down home.
Carlo's eyes widened the slightest bit.
Irene had saved this for him,
a small piece of happiness from her day, something she wanted to share.
And in that simple gesture, Carlo felt all the proof he needed that something good had happened to her today.
But even as Carlo enjoyed the sweet smell of the chocolate, something tugged at him, an old, familiar thread of worry. Treats like this were far beyond their reach.Peasants like them couldn't afford chocolates, not even on special occasions, not even if they saved for weeks. It wasn't just rare, it was impossible.
And because it was impossible, Carlo immediately knew something was off. He watched Irene's bright face, brighter than he had seen in months, for a moment he wanted to let it be. But the protective older brother inside him kept pushing, urging him to understand, to pierce through her glowing expression and find the truth behind it. He needed to know.
"Irene, where'd you get these?"
he finally asked, trying to sound casual, though the strain in his voice gave him away.
"…An adult handed free chocolate to children in the village today,"
she answered.
Liar.
Carlo knew instantly.
No one in this village gave out such expensive treats. And he understood Irene well enough to catch the slight different in her voice, the tiny pause before she spoke. But he didn't confront her.
"You shouldn't be accepting gifts from strangers,"
he said instead, masking his concern with a lecturing tone.
"Don't worry. It was not a stranger."
Another lie.
Her eyes shifted just slightly when she said it, something only he would notice.
Still… it had been so long since he'd seen her this happy. Whoever had given her the chocolate, stranger or who, had managed to pull her out. And despite the worry, Carlo couldn't bring himself to take that away from her. He would let it slide tonight. But he quietly stored it in the back of his mind, a thought to revisit later.
Carlo reached into the bag, picked a single piece of chocolate, and placed it in his mouth. It melted instantly, soft, sweet, rich. He closed the bag afterward, pressing the cloth shut as if sealing away something precious.
Irene inched closer to him, eyes expectant, clearly waiting for his reaction. It was rare, almost unheard of, to see this side of her, so lively, so hopeful. Seeing her like this chipped away at the last of Carlo's resistance, and he finally gave in.
"…It was sweet,
he said softly. "Thank you."
Because it was.
It was chocolate, after all, something unimaginably sweet to peasants like them. Sweet in taste, and even sweeter in what it meant.
Hearing his words, Irene let out a smile so wide and bright it seemed to fill the whole shack with warmth.
A smile that almost made him forget the lies, the worry, and the hardships outside these four fragile walls.