A dad and his young son approach the supermarket checkout. When the father starts to pay, the son tilts his head, sticks out his tongue and licks the conveyor belt that was moving at that moment. Apparently, he decided to look at the long wet trail his tongue left.
When his dad looked at him, the boy just grinned like he’d invented a new Olympic sport. “Matei, what on earth are you doing?” the father said, half-laughing, half-horrified. “It’s a race, Dad!
My tongue was faster than the groceries!” the boy said proudly, pointing at the damp streak his tongue had left across the belt. The cashier raised an eyebrow, clearly trying not to laugh. A young woman behind them chuckled and muttered, “Kids…”
His dad sighed and pulled out a tissue, gently wiping his son’s tongue.
“Buddy, you really can’t lick public things like that. It’s dirty.”
“But it didn’t taste dirty,” Matei protested. They left the store with a full grocery bag and a story that would be retold in the family group chat within the hour.
But for his dad, whose name was Radu, this wasn’t just a funny moment. It was one of many little reminders that his son, though only seven, was starting to interact with the world in more independent—and sometimes bizarre—ways. Radu was a single dad.
He and Matei had been on their own for the past three years, ever since his wife left. Not in a tragic accident. Not due to illness.
She simply said she “wasn’t meant for this kind of life” and left. Just like that. At first, Radu was crushed.
He thought he’d never be enough. But over time, with help from his mother and his job at the hardware store, he built a quiet, simple life for Matei and himself. Their world was full of routine, inside jokes, Saturday pancakes, and bedtime stories where the endings always changed depending on Matei’s mood.
Still, there was always that little fear in Radu’s chest—that he wasn’t doing enough. That Matei needed more than just a dad who sometimes burned eggs and got tired after work. That night, as Matei snored softly in bed, Radu looked over the groceries he’d bought.
There was a small cake. Matei had begged for it and said it was for “someone special.” Radu had assumed it was for him. He was wrong.
The next morning, Radu found Matei in the living room with a sheet of paper and a set of colored pencils. On the paper, he was drawing a big heart with a smiling face in the middle. Inside the heart were the words: “For Miss Lidia.”
“Who’s Miss Lidia?” Radu asked, still half-asleep.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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