Chapter 8 - The Truth About My Mother|
I read the message three times.
Then I turned toward Massimo.
"What happened to my mother?"
He stared at the phone.
"Sophie, I don't know."
"Are you sure?"
His expression hardened.
"Yes."
I wanted to believe him.
But the photograph.
The fire.
The mysterious payments.
Every new discovery made my childhood feel less like a memory and more like a carefully constructed lie.
Detective Brooks held out her hand.
"May I see the message?"
I gave her the phone.
She studied it.
"Whoever sent this knows we're investigating."
Massimo looked toward the greenhouse entrance.
"Then someone is watching us."
Brooks immediately spoke into her radio.
Officers began checking the surrounding property.
I felt exposed beneath the gray Chicago sky.
Massimo guided me toward the SUV.
"We're leaving."
I pulled away.
"Stop deciding everything for me."
He froze.
I lowered my voice.
"I'm scared, Massimo."
His expression softened.
"But I need answers more than I need someone telling me where to stand."
He nodded slowly.
"Then we'll find them."
That afternoon, Detective Brooks arranged for us to meet a retired physician named Dr. Samuel Whitaker.
He had worked at the hospital where my mother died.
I remembered him vaguely.
A kind older man who used to bring me chocolate whenever I visited.
His office smelled of coffee and old paper.
When he saw me, his eyes filled with tears.
"Sophie Miller."
I stood awkwardly.
"Hello, Doctor."
He took my hands.
"You look just like your mother."
My throat tightened.
"That's why I'm here."
He glanced at Massimo.
Then at Detective Brooks.
"What do you want to know?"
"Everything."
The doctor sat down heavily.
For a long moment, he stared at his desk.
"Your mother was a remarkable woman."
I nodded.
"She was."
"She was also frightened during the final months of her life."
My heart began pounding.
"Frightened of what?"
"Men who came to the hospital asking questions."
Massimo leaned forward.
"What men?"
Whitaker hesitated.
"One introduced himself as Vittorio Romano."
I felt sick.
"Did my father know?"
"Yes."
The doctor rubbed his forehead.
"Thomas begged me not to tell anyone."
"Why?"
"Because your mother had discovered something."
I gripped the arms of my chair.
"What?"
"Financial records."
Massimo exchanged a glance with Brooks.
Whitaker continued.
"She worked part-time keeping books for a property company before she became ill."
I remembered that.
Mom used to sit at the kitchen table with a calculator and stacks of invoices.
"She noticed payments that didn't make sense."
"What kind of payments?" Brooks asked.
"Money being transferred through charitable foundations into private accounts."
Massimo's face darkened.
"Vittorio."
Whitaker nodded.
"Your mother intended to report it."
I swallowed.
"And then?"
"Then she became ill."
The room went silent.
I looked at him.
"Are you saying someone made her sick?"
Whitaker immediately shook his head.
"No."
His voice was firm.
"Your mother died from a documented medical condition."
I felt both relief and grief.
"But someone used her illness to frighten your family," he continued.
"Vittorio threatened to take away the money paying for her treatment."
My eyes filled with tears.
"That's why Dad accepted the payment."
Whitaker nodded sadly.
"He believed he was protecting her."
I covered my mouth.
For years, I had wondered why my father never spoke about the financial struggles we endured during Mom's illness.
Now I understood.
He had been carrying a secret too heavy to share.
Massimo sat beside me.
He didn't touch me.
He simply stayed.
Somehow, that meant more.
Then Whitaker opened a drawer.
"Your mother left something with me."
He removed a sealed envelope.
"She said I should give it to Sophie if anyone ever came asking about the greenhouse."
My hands shook as I opened it.
Inside was a short letter.
My darling Sophie,
If the past ever finds you, remember that courage isn't the absence of fear.
It's choosing what is right even when you're terrified.
Your father and I made mistakes trying to protect you.
But we never stopped believing the truth would matter.
Trust the person who saved you from the fire.
I looked up at Massimo.
His eyes were wet.
Then I noticed a final sentence.
And never trust the woman wearing my emerald necklace.
I frowned.
"What emerald necklace?"
Whitaker looked confused.
"Your mother's necklace?"
I nodded slowly.
It had been a family heirloom.
After she died, my father told me it was missing.
Then a memory struck me.
At breakfast that morning, Isabella Romano had worn an emerald pendant.
A beautiful antique necklace with a small gold clasp.
I turned toward Massimo.
"Your mother."
He frowned.
"What about her?"
"She was wearing an emerald necklace."
"She's owned it for years."
I shook my head.
"No."
My voice trembled.
"That necklace belonged to my mother."
May you like
Massimo stood.
And for the first time since we'd met, he looked completely shaken.
