The Restoration Artist: Saving the Heirloom for the Wedding

My name is Matteo, and I spent three months breathing in dust and chemical strippers for a ceremony I wasn't invited to.

Lucia had an antique vanity that belonged to her grandmother. It was rotting, infested with termites, and the mahogany was black with age. "It’s the only thing I want in my new house," she told me, her eyes misty. "But the professional restorers said it’s a lost cause."

I’m a carpenter in Florence. I told her I could do it. I didn't tell her it would require me to work until 2:00 AM every night after my actual job. I spent hundreds of Euros on authentic period brass hardware and rare oils. I meticulously replaced the rotted joints, my fingers permanently stained with walnut dye. I justified the back-breaking labor by imagining the vanity in her bedroom—a piece of me that she would touch every single morning.

When I finally finished, it was a masterpiece. The wood glowed with a deep, red soul. Lucia gasped when she saw it, throwing her arms around me. "Matteo, you’ve saved my family history!"

A week later, I saw a photo of the vanity on her social media. It was positioned in the bridal suite of a luxury villa. She was sitting at it, applying her makeup, looking radiant in a white lace veil. The caption read: "The perfect morning before saying 'I do' to my soulmate. Everything is finally in its place." She had used the beauty I restored to prepare herself for another man’s bed. She didn't mention the carpenter who had spent ninety nights bringing that wood back to life. I sat in my workshop, surrounded by scraps of sandpaper and the scent of oil, and realized I had built the altar for her happiness with someone else.