Chapter 3 - The Woman Who Never Came Back
“Leni.”
My knees almost gave out.
Nobody had called me that since I was nine.
Vincent stepped between me and the doorway.
The woman stopped.
“Please,” she said. “I don't want trouble.”
I couldn't see her clearly.
Then she moved into the light.
Twenty years disappeared.
Her hair contained gray now.
Lines framed her mouth.
Her face was thinner.
But she was Sofia Ramirez.
My mother.
Alive.
I couldn't move.
She stared at me.
Then tears filled her eyes.
“My baby.”
“No.”
It came out instinctively.
She stopped.
“Elena—”
“No.”
Anger arrived before grief.
It was easier.
“You died.”
“I know what you were told.”
“You let me believe you were dead.”
Her face crumpled.
“I had no choice.”
“Everybody has a choice.”
Vincent remained silent beside me.
My mother looked at him.
“You look like your father.”
Vincent stiffened.
“You knew him.”
“Yes.”
“Why did you send the package?”
“I didn't.”
That silenced everyone.
Sofia looked toward the envelope in the drawer.
“I came because I learned somebody had found what I left behind.”
Renzo asked, “Who delivered it?”
“I don't know.”
“Who knew about it?”
Sofia's gaze moved to me.
“One person.”
“Who?”
She hesitated.
Then she looked at Vincent.
“Your father.”
Vincent's face became unreadable.
“My father has been dead twelve years.”
“I know.”
“Then somebody else knew.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
My mother looked frightened.
Before she answered, Mia's voice suddenly came through Renzo's phone.
“Mr. Renzo?”
He looked at the screen.
Mrs. Bell was calling.
He answered.
“Mia?”
“Mommy said she'd come back.”
My heart broke.
I took the phone.
“Baby, I'm coming.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
I looked at my mother.
“Now.”
Sofia whispered, “You have a daughter.”
I couldn't respond.
Not yet.
We returned upstairs.
When Mia saw me, she ran into my arms.
Then she noticed Sofia.
Children don't understand impossible reunions.
They understand faces.
Mia looked at the old photograph still sitting on Vincent's desk.
Then at Sofia.
Then back at the photograph.
“You're Grandma.”
Sofia covered her mouth.
I held Mia tighter.
“No hugging,” I said quietly.
Sofia nodded immediately.
“I understand.”
Mia frowned.
“Why?”
“Because Mommy needs time.”
Vincent glanced at me.
It was such a simple sentence.
But it helped.
We sat.
Then Sofia told us the truth.
Twenty years earlier, she had worked for Vincent's father, Antonio Castalano.
Not as anything mysterious.
She managed household accounts.
Antonio discovered that someone he trusted had been stealing enormous amounts from several family-owned businesses.
Sofia found the altered records.
She planned to report them.
The person responsible learned what she knew.
Threats followed.
Not only against Sofia.
Against me.
“So you disappeared?” I asked.
“I thought I could protect you.”
“By abandoning me?”
“By making them believe I was dead.”
My eyes burned.
“You could have taken me.”
“I tried.”
Her voice broke.
“The person watching me knew where your school was. Where your grandmother lived. Everything.”
“So Grandma knew?”
“Yes.”
That hurt differently.
“She agreed to this?”
“She hated it. But she believed it would keep you alive.”
Vincent asked the obvious question.
“Who was stealing?”
Sofia looked at him.
“Your uncle.”
Vincent's expression hardened.
“Gabriel?”
“Yes.”
I knew the name.
Gabriel Castalano had been Vincent's father's younger brother.
He rarely visited the estate, but his photograph still appeared in old family albums.
“He's been living in Europe for years,” Vincent said.
“No,” Sofia replied.
“He wants people to think that.”
Renzo began typing.
Vincent asked, “What proof did you have?”
“Records. Transfers. Signed instructions.”
“The second letter?”
“Directions.”
“To where?”
Sofia looked toward the old envelope I had brought upstairs.
“I don't know anymore.”
“You wrote it.”
“I wrote several letters. Each contained one part.”
Vincent understood.
“So no single person could find the evidence.”
“Yes.”
“Who had the other letters?”
Sofia looked at him.
“Your father.”
Vincent walked toward the window.
For the first time since I had known him, he looked unsettled.
“My father never told me.”
“He wanted you outside it.”
“So did you.”
Her eyes moved toward me.
“We both failed.”
I wanted to scream.
Instead, Mia climbed off the sofa.
She walked toward Vincent.
He didn't notice until she tugged his jacket.
He looked down.
“You're doing the face again.”
Silence.
Then, unbelievably, Sofia laughed.
It was soft.
Broken.
But I remembered that laugh.
I hated that I remembered.
Vincent stared at Mia.
“What face?”
She copied him.
Even I laughed this time.
One short, helpless sound.
The tension loosened.
Only for a moment.
Then Renzo's tablet chimed.
He looked down.
“Vincent.”
“What?”
“I searched Gabriel's travel records through the information we have.”
“And?”
“He entered the country four days ago.”
Sofia went pale.
Vincent turned.
“Where?”
“New York.”
My mother stood abruptly.
“We need the evidence.”
I picked up the second envelope.
This one opened easily.
Inside was a key and a note.
THE CLOCK REMEMBERS WHAT PEOPLE FORGET.
Vincent frowned.
“Clock?”
Sofia closed her eyes.
Then opened them.
“Your father's library.”
We crossed the mansion together.
Mia stayed with Mrs. Bell again.
The old library had changed little.
Dark shelves.
Leather chairs.
A fireplace.
And against the far wall stood a grandfather clock.
Vincent approached it.
“My father loved this thing.”
Sofia touched the wood.
“He trusted it.”
The key fit a small hidden lock behind the pendulum housing.
A compartment opened.
Inside was a flash drive.
And another photograph.
Vincent picked it up.
His father stood beside Sofia.
Between them was another man.
Gabriel.
On the back, Antonio had written:
IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO SOFIA, GABRIEL IS RESPONSIBLE.
Vincent stared at the sentence.
Then the library door slammed shut behind us.
The lights went out.
A phone began ringing somewhere in the darkness.
Not mine.
Not Vincent's.
Not Renzo's.
Sofia whispered, “Don't answer it.”
The ringing stopped.
A man's voice came through the library speakers.
“Elena.”
I froze.
May you like
He laughed softly.
Then he said, “Ask your mother what really happened to your father.”
