Nana was a simple woman. She fell head over heels for her husband, she loved her son, and all his friends. But over the years, things changed; her kitchen table grew from two, to five, to twelve.
She loved each of those visitors in turn. Small Lambo who tugged at her apron for sweets, Dino who managed to make a mess no matter what he did, the baby tutor who so fondly called her Mama when she served dinner.
They all became part of her small family. Thanks to her son, thanks to his tutor. His friends who seemed endless and thuggish at first soon joining them at the table for food. Some loud, shouting in a language Nana would later learn as Italian, some throwing swords, and knives, and guns in each other's faces with little care. They all settled eventually, the words of a mother calming everything.
Nana had no idea where they all came from, her son's kindness and generosity knowing no bounds.
Some came to her for food, joining the table wordlessly. Some stumbled in at 2 in the morning all cuts and bruises. Nana treated ever one of them. Holding their tattered limbs, bandaging them up with reassuring words. You'll get better soon, Mama will fix you up.
There were injuries even Nana couldn't fix, broken limbs, fractured jaws. At these times a Dr would show up, dropping flirtatious lines like honey, but Nana saw no effect. She loved her husband.
Nana never asked where all these people came from. Nana was a simple woman.