Chapter 18 - The Seventh ChildCatherine refused to answer at first.
That was how we knew Samuel had told the truth.
Alessandro stood beside her hospital bed.
“Who was the baby?”
She closed her eyes.
“Mother.”
“Please.”
Her eyes opened.
“Her name was Sofia.”
“Whose daughter?”
Catherine looked toward me.
“Mine.”
Silence.
Alessandro stepped backward.
“What?”
“She was your sister.”
The room tilted.
Catherine had been pregnant when she left Antonio.
She never told him.
She was terrified that another child would become another weapon.
Michael Shaw helped her disappear.
Months later, Sofia was born.
Catherine lived secretly with the Shaw family for almost a year.
Then Mercer Street burned.
“Sofia was inside?” Alessandro whispered.
“Yes.”
“Did she die?”
Catherine began crying.
“I thought so.”
My heart jumped.
“Thought?”
Catherine looked at me.
“Her body was never found.”
Alessandro stared.
“Then she could be alive.”
“Yes.”
Gabriel arrived an hour later.
When Catherine told him, his face drained.
“I remember the baby.”
“You never mentioned her,” I said.
“I was fourteen. After the fire, everything was chaos.”
“Did you see anyone take her?”
Gabriel closed his eyes.
Then suddenly opened them.
“A woman.”
“What woman?”
“I don't know.”
He stood.
“I saw someone leaving through the alley carrying something wrapped in a blanket.”
“Could it have been Sofia?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you tell anyone?”
“I thought it was another survivor.”
Victor began searching records.
Hospitals.
Adoptions.
Churches.
Private agencies.
Twenty-seven years was a lifetime of paperwork.
Then Rosa found the clue.
Of course she did.
She arrived at the hospital carrying soup nobody requested.
We told her everything.
She frowned.
“November 1999?”
“Yes.”
“What hospital?”
“Unknown.”
“Catholic adoption?”
“Possibly.”
Rosa stared at Catherine.
“Was the baby wearing anything?”
Catherine touched her neck.
“A medal. Saint Sofia.”
Rosa sat down.
“I remember something.”
Every head turned.
“My cousin worked at St. Anne’s shelter back then. After that big fire, someone left a baby outside.”
Catherine stopped breathing.
“What happened to her?”
“Adopted.”
Victor found the record by evening.
A female infant.
Approximately eleven months old.
No legal name.
Found wearing a Saint Sofia medal.
Adopted by a couple in Wisconsin.
New name:
Sophia Reynolds.
Age twenty-eight.
Occupation:
Elementary school teacher.
Married.
One child.
Alive.
Alessandro stared at her photograph.
His sister.
For thirty-two years, he believed himself an only child.
Now a woman with his eyes smiled from a school faculty webpage.
“What do I do?” he asked.
“Nothing yet,” I said.
He looked at me.
“You make sure she’s safe. Then you give her a choice.”
The next morning, Sophia Reynolds walked into Rosie’s before we could contact her.
She looked at Alessandro.
Then at Catherine.
Then at me.
“I think,” she said shakily, “someone owes me an explanation.”
Apparently Samuel had contacted her months earlier.
He told her enough to make her curious but not enough to reveal the truth.
She had researched Antonio.
Then Alessandro.
Then the foundation.
She had been watching us from a distance.
“You photographed us?” I asked.
“No.”
“Then who did?”
“Samuel’s investigator.”
Sophia sat.
“My parents told me I was adopted. They didn't know where I came from.”
Catherine cried silently.
“I’m your mother.”
Sophia looked at her.
“I know.”
“You know?”
“I did a DNA test three weeks ago.”
She turned toward Alessandro.
“And apparently you're my brother.”
Alessandro stared at her.
“Yes.”
Sophia laughed nervously.
“This family is insane.”
I couldn't help it.
I laughed.
Then Alessandro did.
Even Catherine.
For a few seconds, decades of tragedy loosened their grip.
Sophia didn't immediately hug anyone.
She didn't call Catherine Mom.
She didn't magically become family because biology said so.
She asked questions.
Hard ones.
Catherine answered.
When she didn't know, she admitted it.
That was enough for a beginning.
Then Sophia removed an envelope from her purse.
“Samuel sent this yesterday.”
Inside was a bank document.
An account containing forty-six million dollars.
Beneficiary:
Sophia Reynolds.
Source:
The Romano Mercer Trust.
Alessandro frowned.
“I've never heard of it.”
Catherine had.
Her face turned white.
“Antonio created that account.”
“For Sofia?”
“Yes.”
“How did he know she existed?”
Catherine stared at the document.
“He wasn't supposed to.”
Another page slipped from the envelope.
A handwritten note from Antonio.
For my daughter, if she ever learns my name.
Alessandro sat down.
His father had known.
For decades, Catherine believed she had hidden Sofia from him.
Antonio had known.
And he had protected her without ever approaching.
Sophia read the note twice.
Then whispered:
“There’s another page.”
She turned it over.
On the back, Antonio had written one final sentence.
Alessandro must never know what I traded to keep both my children alive.
My husband looked at Catherine.
She looked terrified.
“What did he trade?”
May you like
Catherine whispered:
“His life.”
