The Boy Who Fixed the Moon
May 26, 2026
lossacceptancechangelove
When Vito was three years old, he noticed that the Moon had a hole. At least it seemed that way — every night the Moon looked smaller and smaller, as if someone was taking bites out of it.
"Mama, the Moon is breaking!" he shouted one night.
Mama laughed. "Those are phases, Vito. The Moon isn't breaking."
But Vito wasn't convinced. He packed glue, tape, cloth, and a flashlight into a small backpack. "I'm going to fix the Moon," he declared.
His father, sitting in the living room reading the newspaper, lowered his glasses and looked at his son. Most parents would have said, "Don't be silly." Or: "Go to sleep." But Vito's father wasn't like most parents.
"Alright," he said. "But you'll need help. I know someone who tried the same thing once."
Vito looked at him with wide eyes. "Who?"
"Me. When I was your age, I wanted to fix something that couldn't be fixed. Come, I'll tell you what happened..."
Father picked up little Vito in his arms and carried him to the backyard. They sat on the grass, and Jole, the family dog, lay down beside them, limping on his hind leg. Eva watched them from the window with a smile and a slightly worried look.
The Moon was as thin as an eyebrow that night.
"When I was small, my mom — your grandma — was very sick. And I thought that if I wished hard enough, I could fix her. Like a toy. Like a bicycle when its chain falls off."
Vito was silent, as Jole slowly moved closer, sensing the sadness in the air.
"Every night I prayed. I gathered healing herbs from the field. I wrote a letter to God and put it under my pillow. Once I even tried to make a cure from honey, tea, and mud."
"And did you fix her?"
Father was silent for a long time. "No. Grandma passed away when I was eight."
Vito felt his eyes fill with tears—not for the grandma he never knew, but for the little boy who was his father.
"But I learned something, Vito. Something grandma said her last day. She said, 'Son, you can't fix everything. But you can be there while it breaks. And sometimes that's more important than fixing.'"
"I don't understand."
"Look at the Moon." Father pointed to the sky. "It's not broken. It's changing. Every night it looks different. Sometimes it's full, sometimes it's thin, sometimes it's not there at all. But it always comes back. Always."
"Like grandma?"
"Not like grandma. Grandma didn't come back. But her love did. In me. In you. Every time I hug you, that's grandma's love returning like the Moon."
Vito looked at the sky. The Moon was thin, almost invisible. But it was there.
"Dad?"
"Yes?"
"I won't fix the Moon."
"Why?"
"Because I like it like this. Thin. Even when I can barely see it, I know it's there."
Father hugged his son so tightly that
Stories are AI-generated with editorial curation.
