Chapter 2 - The Woman Behind the Locked Door
The voice came again.
"Dominic..."
Softer this time.
Closer.
I stood frozen behind him, unable to move.
My hand was still wrapped around Sophie’s small fingers, but she wasn’t looking at me anymore.
She was staring into the dark room.
Like she recognized the voice.
Dominic Valente slowly pushed the study door open.
The room was exactly how I had imagined it.
Large.
Perfectly organized.
Cold.
A massive wooden desk sat near the window. Books lined the shelves from floor to ceiling. Expensive paintings covered the walls.
Everything looked untouched.
Except for one thing.
A woman was sitting in the corner.
My breath caught.
She was older than me.
Maybe in her late fifties.
Her gray hair fell around her shoulders, and her face was pale.
But the thing that shocked me wasn’t her appearance.
It was Dominic’s reaction.
Because the most powerful man I had ever met looked like he had just seen a ghost.
"No," he whispered.
The woman looked at him.
"You thought I was dead."
Nobody spoke.
I looked between them.
My mind was racing.
Who was she?
Why was she here?
And why did Sophie know about her?
Dominic stepped into the room slowly.
"How did you get in here?"
The woman gave a small, tired smile.
"That’s your first question?"
Her eyes moved toward Sophie.
Then toward me.
"And you brought them into this."
I felt Sophie grip my hand tighter.
Dominic noticed.
His expression hardened.
"Don’t involve them."
The woman laughed quietly.
Not because something was funny.
Because she was hurt.
"You still protect everyone except the people who need you."
I didn’t understand.
But I understood one thing.
There was history between them.
A painful history.
Dominic looked at the desk.
"Where did you find the drawing?"
The woman looked down.
"I didn’t."
Her voice became softer.
"She did."
She pointed at Sophie.
My daughter immediately hid behind me.
"No," I whispered.
The woman looked at Sophie with sadness.
"She found the room."
Dominic turned sharply.
"Impossible."
The woman’s eyes moved to the locked door.
"Nothing is impossible when a child is looking for her mother."
My stomach dropped.
I looked at Sophie.
"Sweetheart, what does she mean?"
Sophie looked scared.
Her lips trembled.
"I heard Mommy crying."
I felt my chest tighten.
"But I was never in this room."
Sophie looked at me.
"I know."
The answer frightened me more.
"Then who was crying?"
She didn’t answer.
Dominic walked toward the desk.
He opened the top drawer.
Empty.
Then the second drawer.
Empty.
His jaw tightened.
The woman watched him.
"You still haven’t found it."
"Found what?"
I asked.
Nobody answered.
Dominic ignored me and moved toward a painting hanging behind the desk.
He removed it from the wall.
Behind it was a small metal compartment.
Hidden.
My eyes widened.
A secret safe.
Dominic entered a code.
Nothing happened.
He tried again.
Still nothing.
The woman spoke quietly.
"Your father’s birthday."
Dominic froze.
For the first time, I saw something beyond anger in his face.
Pain.
He entered the numbers.
The safe opened.
Inside were several old documents.
A photograph.
And a small envelope.
Dominic picked up the photograph first.
He stared at it.
I couldn’t see clearly from where I stood.
But I saw his fingers shaking.
"Who is she?"
I asked.
Dominic didn’t answer.
The woman did.
"His first wife."
The room went silent.
I looked at Dominic.
First wife?
That was impossible.
Everyone knew Dominic was never married.
At least, that was what the newspapers said.
The woman looked at me.
"They told the world she disappeared."
My voice became quiet.
"Who?"
She looked at Dominic.
"His family."
Dominic placed the photograph on the desk.
"Enough."
"No."
The woman stood.
"You don’t get to hide this anymore."
Sophie looked between them.
"Is she the bad lady?"
Everyone stopped.
The question was innocent.
But the reaction wasn’t.
The woman’s face broke.
"No, sweetheart."
She looked at Sophie.
"I was the person who tried to save your mother."
My entire body went cold.
"What did you just say?"
The woman looked at me.
"Your daughter saw more than she was supposed to."
Dominic stepped forward.
"Stop."
But the woman continued.
"She saw the same thing her mother saw."
I stared at her.
"My mother?"
The woman shook her head.
"No."
A pause.
"Your mother."
I felt confused.
Then afraid.
Because I suddenly understood.
She wasn’t talking about Sophie.
She was talking about me.
"I don’t understand."
The woman walked toward the desk and picked up the envelope.
"This was hidden for twenty years."
She handed it to Dominic.
"He never wanted you to find out."
Dominic didn’t take it.
"Who?"
The woman looked directly at him.
"Your father."
The name hung in the room.
Dominic’s father had been dead for years.
Everyone knew that.
I had seen his portrait in the main hallway.
A powerful man.
A respected businessman.
A man people described as a legend.
But now, standing in that room, I realized legends could have secrets too.
Dominic finally took the envelope.
His hands were unsteady.
He opened it.
Inside was a single piece of paper.
He read it silently.
Then his face changed.
"What does it say?"
I asked.
He looked at me.
For several seconds, he didn’t speak.
Then he handed me the paper.
The handwriting was old.
But clear.
One sentence.
"If anything happens to me, the girl named Clara must never learn who her real father is."
I stared at the words.
Clara.
My name.
The room started spinning.
"No."
I shook my head.
"No, that’s not possible."
The woman watched me carefully.
"Your entire life was built around a lie."
I looked at Dominic.
He looked just as shocked as I was.
"Why would my father write that?"
Nobody answered.
Then Sophie spoke.
Quietly.
"Because he was the bad man."
Every person in the room turned toward her.
My daughter was looking at the photograph on the desk.
The one Dominic had been holding earlier.
She pointed at it.
"He was the man who made Mommy cry."
Dominic slowly picked up the photograph.
His face changed.
Not because of what Sophie said.
Because of what he saw.
I stepped closer.
"What is it?"
He didn’t respond.
The woman covered her mouth.
Because she recognized it too.
On the back of the photograph was a date.
And beneath the date was a name.
A name that should not have existed.
Dominic turned the photograph around.
His voice was barely a whisper.
"Clara..."
I looked at him.
"What?"
He stared at me.
Then at the picture.
Then back at me.
May you like
Because the woman standing beside his father in the photograph...
was my mother.
