Chapter 8 - The Mother Who Returned From the Dead|
Adrien stared at Marco as though he'd spoken a language neither of us understood.
"My mother is dead."
Marco nodded carefully.
"That's what the family records indicate."
I looked at Adrien.
His face had lost every trace of color.
"Are you sure?"
Marco hesitated.
"We found hotel records and security footage showing a woman using Isabella Moretti's identity."
Adrien closed his eyes.
For eight years, he'd believed his mother died after a long illness.
He had attended the funeral.
Paid for the ceremony.
Stood beside his father while powerful men offered condolences.
He rarely spoke about her afterward.
Now someone was claiming she'd been alive.
I reached toward his hand.
Then hesitated.
Adrien noticed.
He looked at me.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then he whispered:
"I don't know what to believe anymore."
I swallowed.
"Neither do I."
The next morning, Leo was awake enough to ask for his brothers.
Dr. Bennett was pleased with his early recovery but emphasized that the next several days remained important.
We arranged a short, carefully supervised visit.
Oliver and Ethan entered the room carrying their dinosaur drawings.
Leo smiled when he saw them.
"Hi."
Oliver immediately climbed onto the chair beside the bed.
"Did they fix your heart?"
Leo nodded.
"I think so."
Ethan looked at the monitors.
"Are you a robot now?"
Leo laughed softly.
"No."
Oliver frowned.
"You have lots of wires."
Leo looked at me.
"Mommy says they're helping."
I smiled.
"They are."
Adrien stood near the doorway watching.
For a moment, he looked completely overwhelmed.
Three little boys.
His sons.
Together.
Alive.
He had missed their first words.
First steps.
First birthdays.
Every ordinary moment that makes a family.
And now he was witnessing something he could never recover.
Oliver noticed him.
"Dad?"
Adrien froze.
It was the first time one of the boys had called him that without asking a question.
He stepped closer.
"Yes?"
Oliver held up his drawing.
"Look."
Adrien took it carefully.
The picture showed three dinosaurs standing beside a very tall man.
"What is this?"
Oliver smiled.
"Us."
Adrien's eyes filled.
"And who's the tall one?"
"You."
He laughed through tears.
"Thank you."
Ethan handed him another picture.
This one showed a house.
Three small figures.
One woman.
One man.
Adrien stared.
"What's this?"
Ethan looked serious.
"Our family."
My heart tightened.
For five years, I'd been our boys' entire world.
Now they were already making room for someone else.
I wanted that for them.
I truly did.
But I was afraid of what would happen if Adrien disappeared again.
That afternoon, Adrien asked to speak with me privately.
We sat near the hospital garden.
He looked exhausted.
"Clare, I want to discuss the boys."
I folded my arms.
"Okay."
"I've asked my attorney to arrange a proper custody and parenting process."
My stomach tightened.
He noticed immediately.
"I'm not trying to take them from you."
I stared.
"Your father already tried."
His face darkened.
"I know."
He took a breath.
"I want to establish my responsibilities legally. Support. Medical decisions. Time with them. Everything done properly."
I studied him.
"And you won't expect them to move into your mansion?"
"No."
"Or change schools?"
"No."
"Or leave me?"
Adrien's expression broke.
"Never."
I looked away.
He continued quietly:
"Clare, I know I haven't earned your trust."
My throat tightened.
"But I want to earn theirs."
I nodded slowly.
"Then start by showing up."
He swallowed.
"I will."
For a moment, silence settled between us.
Then he said:
"And I want you to have independent counsel."
I looked up.
"Why?"
"Because I don't want you to feel pressured by my lawyers or my money."
My chest tightened.
For the first time, Adrien seemed to understand something important.
Money wasn't safety.
Power wasn't love.
And a bank card wasn't a replacement for being present.
"Thank you," I whispered.
He nodded.
Then his phone rang.
Marco.
Adrien answered.
His expression changed.
"What?"
A pause.
"Send it."
He ended the call.
I looked at him.
"What happened?"
He turned his phone toward me.
A photograph filled the screen.
An older woman stood outside a private clinic in Zurich.
Silver hair.
Gray eyes.
A familiar face.
Adrien's mother.
Isabella Moretti.
My stomach dropped.
Adrien stared.
"Mom."
Then another photograph arrived.
This one showed Isabella entering a black car.
Beside her stood Vittorio.
Alive.
Smiling.
And holding her hand.
Adrien's expression hardened.
"My father told me she died."
I swallowed.
"And now?"
He looked at me.
His eyes filled.
"Now I think he wanted us to believe whatever kept us under his control."
Then a message appeared.
Unknown number.
Adrien, your mother has been waiting for you.
A second message followed.
But she says you must come alone.
Adrien went completely still.
Then a third message appeared.
And don't tell Clare what happened the night the triplets were conceived.
I stopped breathing.
May you like
Because there was something Adrien had never told me about that night.
And suddenly, I wondered whether our marriage had been destroyed long before the divorce papers arrived.
