The piece of bread was stale and hard but to me, it was as if I was holding a piece of the moon. The crust was dark and the white dough had craters of different shapes and sizes. I held the piece of the moon to my left eye and looked through it. If I squinted just right, the colors of my nonna’s curtain blended and shapes shifted. I heard the front door open behind me and quickly turned with the crust up to my squinted eye, as if I were Sherlock Holmes holding my magnifying glass. The image of my father standing alone holding a white box was a bit blurry around the edges. As my piece of moon slipped through my fingers and fell to the floor, his face came into sharp focus. He walked toward me and stepped on the bread without flinching. “Dov’e’ la mamma?” Where is mommy? I asked. He knelt down in front of me and when he was at my eye level said, “You are never to utter that name. Ever. Again. Understood?” I looked down and stared at the crumbs at his feet. “Now open the box.” I hesitated. “Open it,” he said. I lifted the lid and a big doll with vacant blue-gray eyes stared directly at me. Her hair was long, shiny and coarse. Her dress was blue and white plaid under a red knitted vest with two round pompons in the front. She had a tag on her wrist that read: “Mi chiamo Federica, sono la tua vera amica.”  My name is Federica, I am your true friend. My father set her standing in the middle of the room and showed me she could walk if you pressed a button in the middle of her back. After a few robot-like steps, Federica came to a stop. Her arms stretched out into nothing. And just like that, my mother vanished from my world like a cruel magic trick. She didn’t say goodbye. She didn’t leave a note. She was replaced by a doll.