Un bravo ragazzo

A bare room holds a middle-aged woman. She is a mother and is speaking to a son. She is talking about a son. He has done something he shouldn’t have done. But he has done it. And there is no going back. You cannot stop the hand. But if he has done it, there must be a reason, some reason: there has to be. She is sure of it. She knows. She knows herself; she is a woman, and she knows what women are capable of.