Chapter 8 - The Letters They Never Let Me Read|
I read my mother's letter thirteen times.
I knew because Nico counted.
Not out loud.
He simply sat beside me while I unfolded the same piece of paper over and over, tracing the handwriting I'd spent twelve years trying to remember.
My darling Nora,
I don't know how old you are now.
I don't know whether you still love painting or whether you still leave books open beside your pillow.
I don't know if you remember the song I sang when you couldn't sleep.
But I remember everything about you.
My throat closed.
I had stopped painting when I was fourteen.
My father called it a waste of time.
I'd stopped leaving books beside my pillow when I was sixteen.
He said reading novels filled my head with nonsense.
But I remembered the song.
I remembered my mother sitting on the edge of my bed.
Her fingers brushing my hair.
Her voice soft and warm.
I pressed the paper against my chest.
Nico waited until I was ready.
Then he asked, "Do you want to keep reading?"
I nodded.
The letter continued.
Your father told me you had died in an accident.
I stopped breathing.
For twelve years, my father had told me my mother was dead.
And he'd told her the same thing about me.
I looked up at Nico.
"He told her I died."
His face tightened.
I began shaking.
"He made both of us mourn each other."
Nico moved closer.
"Keep breathing, Nora."
I tried.
My hands wouldn't stop trembling.
I continued reading.
For years, I believed him. Then a nurse showed me a newspaper photograph from a charity event.
You were standing beside Edmund.
You were seventeen.
You were alive.
Tears blurred the words.
I have tried to contact you ever since.
I don't know whether my letters will ever reach you. I don't know whether I'll be allowed to leave.
But I need you to know something.
I did not abandon you.
I broke.
The sound that escaped my throat barely sounded human.
Nico caught me as I bent forward.
I sobbed against his chest.
For twelve years, I had wondered why my mother didn't protect me.
Why she left.
Why she never came back.
Now I knew.
She had spent those same years believing she'd lost me.
Nico held me until I could breathe again.
Then I folded the letter carefully and placed it beside my heart.
Rebecca arrived an hour later with Grace Turner.
The nurse was in her fifties.
Her dark hair was tied back.
She looked exhausted.
But when she saw me, her eyes filled with tears.
"You look just like her."
I stood.
"You know my mother?"
Grace nodded.
"Yes."
"Is she alive?"
"As far as I know, she was alive when she was transferred."
My knees weakened.
"When?"
"Yesterday morning."
"Where did they take her?"
Grace shook her head.
"They wouldn't tell me."
Nico stepped forward.
"Who ordered the transfer?"
"Dr. Adrian Vale."
Rebecca wrote down the name.
Grace continued.
"He was responsible for Eleanor's care for most of the past twelve years."
"Did she need to be hospitalized?" I asked.
Grace hesitated.
"She experienced significant distress and periods of illness. But I became concerned that her records didn't accurately reflect her condition or her wishes."
"What do you mean?"
"She repeatedly asked to contact an attorney and her daughter. Those requests weren't followed through."
My stomach tightened.
"Why?"
Grace looked down.
"I was told her guardian had restricted contact."
"Edmund."
Grace nodded.
I pressed my hands together.
"Did she know he was hurting me?"
Grace's expression softened.
"She suspected it. She asked about you constantly."
I began crying again.
Grace reached into her bag.
"There's something else."
She removed a small bundle of envelopes tied with blue ribbon.
My mother's handwriting covered each one.
Nora, age fourteen.
Nora, age fifteen.
Nora, age sixteen.
One letter for every birthday.
I covered my mouth.
Grace continued.
"Eleanor asked me to keep these because she was afraid they'd be destroyed."
I stared at the letters.
"How long have you had them?"
"Seven years."
"Why didn't you contact me sooner?"
Tears filled Grace's eyes.
"At first, I believed the restrictions were legally valid. Later, when I questioned them, I was threatened with termination and legal action. I should have sought help sooner."
I looked at her.
She wasn't asking me to excuse her delay.
She was telling me the truth.
And after years of lies, that mattered.
Rebecca leaned forward.
"Grace, would you be willing to give a formal statement and provide the records you've preserved?"
Grace nodded.
"Yes."
Nico took my hand.
The investigation had changed.
We weren't simply trying to locate a missing woman.
We were investigating possible unlawful confinement, falsified medical records, financial exploitation, and a coordinated effort to keep a mother and daughter separated.
That evening, I opened the letter marked Nora, age seventeen.
Inside was a small drawing.
A girl standing beneath a tree.
Above her, my mother had written:
I hope you still find beautiful things in the world.
I cried again.
Then smiled through my tears.
Because for the first time in years, I remembered something beautiful.
Not the mansion.
Not the parties.
Not the expensive clothes.
My mother's hands covered in blue paint as she taught me how to mix colors.
That night, Nico found me sitting by the window with a sketchbook.
He stopped in the doorway.
"I didn't know you drew."
"I used to."
He approached.
"May I see?"
I hesitated.
Then turned the page toward him.
It was a drawing of a woman standing behind a closed door.
A girl on the other side.
Their hands pressed against the same piece of wood.
Nico stared at it.
"That's beautiful."
My cheeks warmed.
"You don't have to say that."
"I'm not saying it because I have to."
He sat beside me.
Then asked, "Would you like to paint again?"
I looked up.
The question was so simple.
So ordinary.
And yet it made something inside me ache.
"Yes," I whispered.
He smiled.
"Then you should."
Before I could answer, Rebecca called.
Nico answered immediately.
Her voice was urgent.
"We've traced the vehicle used in Eleanor's transfer."
My heart stopped.
"Where?"
"To a private residence in Connecticut."
"Is she there?"
"We don't know yet. Authorities are working to establish her whereabouts."
Then Rebecca paused.
"There's another development."
Nico's jaw tightened.
"What?"
"Dr. Vale has retained an attorney and requested to speak with investigators."
I held my breath.
Rebecca continued.
"He claims Edmund instructed him to alter Eleanor's records."
My hands went cold.
"And?"
"He says there's a reason Edmund had her moved."
I leaned toward the phone.
"What reason?"
Rebecca's voice became grave.
"Because Edmund has been ordered to produce the original Whitmore trust documents."
May you like
She paused.
"And if Eleanor is alive and legally capable of speaking for herself, your father's claim to control her fortune could collapse."
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