Chapter 10 - The Three Stars Isabella Left Behind|
Sophia was waiting for us when we returned to the mansion.
She sat at the bottom of the grand staircase holding a stuffed white rabbit.
The moment she saw Luca, she ran into his arms.
"Daddy!"
He lifted her.
"What's wrong, princess?"
She buried her face in his shoulder.
"I thought you weren't coming back."
Luca looked at me.
I understood immediately.
Vanessa had spent months teaching Sophia that the people she loved could disappear without warning.
Now every unexpected absence frightened her.
Luca carried her into the living room.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you when I'd be home."
Sophia held his collar.
"Are you leaving again?"
"Not tonight."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
He sat with her on the sofa.
For nearly an hour, he listened while she told him about her schoolwork, her favorite books, and a classmate who had invited her to a birthday party.
I watched quietly from the doorway.
It seemed such an ordinary conversation.
But I knew Sophia would remember it longer than any expensive gift.
That evening, she asked if we could finish repairing the pink dress.
I brought my sewing basket into the sunroom.
Luca joined us.
He sat across from me, watching as I guided the fabric beneath the needle of a small sewing machine.
Sophia held a box of thread.
"Mommy used to sew tiny stars into the things she made."
I smiled.
"She did."
"Can we put stars on my dress?"
"Of course."
She chose three golden stars.
One for herself.
One for Luca.
And one for Isabella.
As I began stitching them into the lining, Sophia suddenly touched the edge of the fabric.
"Wait."
I stopped.
"What is it?"
She pointed toward the collar.
"Mommy said the stars were a secret."
Luca leaned forward.
"What kind of secret?"
Sophia frowned.
"I don't remember."
She closed her eyes.
Then she began humming a lullaby.
It was a song Isabella used to sing when Sophia was small.
I knew the melody.
I had heard it hundreds of times.
But Sophia stopped halfway through.
"Mommy changed the words once."
Luca looked at her.
"What did she sing?"
Sophia whispered, "Three little stars, one little door, look where the sunlight touches the floor."
I stared at her.
"Sweetheart, where did Mommy sing that?"
"In her sewing room."
Luca stood.
The old sewing room had been locked since Isabella's death.
Vanessa had wanted to turn it into a private dressing room.
Luca had refused.
But he had never entered it again.
We went upstairs together.
He unlocked the door.
The room smelled faintly of lavender and old fabric.
Isabella's sewing machine sat beside the window.
A wooden cutting table occupied the center of the room.
Photographs of Sophia covered a corkboard.
On one shelf stood three small ceramic stars.
Sophia smiled.
"Mommy made those."
Sunlight had faded the wallpaper beneath them.
I remembered Isabella placing the stars there after returning from an art fair.
Sophia pointed toward the floor.
"That's where I used to sit."
Luca examined the shelf.
There was nothing unusual about it.
Then I noticed a small brass plate beneath the ceramic stars.
Its edge was slightly loose.
I touched it.
The plate lifted.
Inside was a folded piece of paper.
Luca took it carefully.
It was not another warning.
It was a letter to Sophia.
My beautiful little girl,
If you are reading this someday, I hope you are surrounded by people who make you feel safe.
I hope you still laugh loudly, ask too many questions, and believe that kindness is a kind of courage.
Never let anyone make you feel guilty for loving me.
And never think you must choose between remembering the past and welcoming the future.
You deserve both.
All my love, Mommy.
Sophia began crying.
Luca knelt and read the letter aloud a second time.
When he finished, she wrapped her arms around his neck.
"Can I keep it?"
"Always."
He kissed her forehead.
I turned toward the window to hide my tears.
Then I noticed something tucked behind the sewing machine.
An old photograph album.
I opened it.
The first pages contained pictures of Isabella and Sophia baking cookies, visiting the zoo, and painting flowerpots.
Near the back was a photograph from a foundation fundraiser.
Isabella stood smiling beside Evelyn Harper.
Vanessa was visible behind them.
And on Vanessa's wrist was an unusual turquoise bracelet.
I recognized it immediately.
She had worn it on the day she cut Sophia's dress.
But that wasn't what caught my attention.
In the photograph, Vanessa was holding a small black notebook.
The notebook had a golden eagle stamped on its cover.
I showed Luca.
He examined it carefully.
"Adrian's company uses that emblem."
I nodded.
Then I noticed writing on the photograph's reverse side.
Isabella had written a date and a short instruction.
Ask Evelyn about the missing pages.
Luca stared at the note.
"Missing pages of what?"
Before I could answer, my phone began ringing.
It was Sophia's school.
I answered immediately.
"Hello?"
A nervous voice came through.
"Miss Bennett, this is Mrs. Collins from the school office."
"Yes?"
"I'm calling to confirm something about Sophia's pickup authorization."
My heart tightened.
"What authorization?"
There was a pause.
"Mrs. Vanessa Moretti arrived this afternoon asking to collect Sophia early for a family trip."
I looked at the little girl standing safely beside her father.
"She's at home."
"I know."
The secretary sounded shaken.
"When I told Mrs. Moretti that Sophia hadn't attended school today, she became extremely upset."
I gripped the phone.
"What did she say?"
"She asked whether Sophia would definitely be coming tomorrow."
I felt a cold wave of fear.
Luca saw my expression.
"What happened?"
I covered the phone.
"Vanessa went to Sophia's school."
His face hardened.
Then the secretary said something even more disturbing.
"Miss Bennett, someone had restored Mrs. Moretti's name to the authorized pickup list."
"Who?"
"We're checking."
"And the paperwork?"
The secretary hesitated.
"The request appears to have been submitted using Mr. Moretti's signature."
I looked at Luca.
He shook his head before I could speak.
May you like
He hadn't signed anything.
And someone had already begun preparing to take his daughter.
