Chapter 5 - THE MOTHER WHO WAS BURIED TWICE
Dominic did not speak for nearly a minute.
His mother, Isabella Moretti, had supposedly died in a car accident when he was seventeen. He remembered the black limousine that brought him to the hospital, his uncle Michael's hand gripping his shoulder, and the doctor who told him there had been nothing anyone could do.
He remembered the funeral.
The closed casket.
The weeks afterward, when he woke from nightmares and found Michael sitting outside his bedroom.
He remembered asking to see his mother's face one last time.
Michael had told him it was better that he remembered her as she had been.
And Dominic, seventeen and shattered, had believed him.
Now Peter Walsh was telling him Isabella had been alive four years ago.
“That's impossible,” Dominic said.
Peter looked miserable.
“I know what I saw.”
“My mother is dead.”
“Then explain why I saw her standing outside the greenhouse three nights before Elena died.”
Dominic grabbed the edge of the table.
“Did you speak to her?”
“No. She spoke to Mrs. Moretti. I heard them arguing.”
“What did they say?”
Peter closed his eyes, trying to remember.
“Your mother said, ‘I won't let him make the same mistake his father made.’ Elena answered, ‘Then help me get the child out.’”
Dominic felt sick.
“What child?”
“I don't know.”
“Why didn't you tell me this before?”
“Because the next day, Richard Sterling showed me a photograph of my daughter. He told me I had one chance to keep her alive. I took it.”
Dominic stared at him.
Then he turned toward Daniel.
“Find every record connected to Isabella Moretti. Death certificate, hospital admission, funeral home, insurance claim. Everything.”
Daniel nodded.
“And contact the attorney who handled her estate.”
“Sir,” Daniel said carefully, “that attorney died years ago.”
“Then find the people who worked for him.”
Daniel left.
Dominic stood alone with the photograph of Elena and the woman holding the child.
He couldn't decide which possibility was worse: that his mother had somehow survived, or that someone had used her name to manipulate Peter.
When he returned to the mansion, Hannah was waiting in the study.
Sophie was asleep upstairs, but Hannah had left a glass of water and a plate of untouched toast on the desk.
“You haven't eaten,” she said.
Dominic glanced at the food.
“I'm not hungry.”
“You still need to eat.”
He looked at her.
Most people in his life treated his silence as an order. Hannah treated it as a problem that might be solved with patience and a plate of toast.
For some reason, that nearly broke him.
“My mother may have been alive after everyone told me she'd died.”
Hannah sat down slowly.
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
“Then don't decide what it means until you know the truth.”
Dominic looked at her.
“You make it sound simple.”
“It isn't. But you have a little girl upstairs who needs her father. Whatever you discover, she shouldn't have to carry it for you.”
He glanced toward the ceiling.
“She already carries too much.”
“Then let her be six.”
Dominic's expression softened.
For the first time that morning, he picked up the toast.
Hannah watched him take a bite before she continued.
“Sophie told me something else last night.”
He put the toast down.
“What?”
“She said her mother used to tell her that if a grown-up ever asked her to keep a frightening secret, she should tell someone who made her feel safe.”
Dominic's eyes narrowed.
“Did Sophie tell you who asked her to keep a secret?”
“No. She was sleepy. I didn't want to push her.”
He nodded.
“Thank you.”
Hannah hesitated.
“There's one more thing. When I was repairing Mr. Buttons, I found a second pocket inside the lining. It was empty, but there was a little piece of paper tucked into the seam.”
She took it from her apron.
Dominic unfolded it.
The paper contained a series of numbers and one handwritten word:
MERCY.
Beneath it was an address.
A church on the South Side of Chicago.
Dominic recognized the name immediately.
St. Mercy's had operated a shelter for women and children for decades. His mother had funded it anonymously when he was a boy.
He looked at Hannah.
“Where did you find this?”
“In the teddy bear's lining. It must have been sewn in before the fire.”
Dominic rose.
“Daniel!”
His head of security appeared almost immediately.
“Sir?”
“Get a team ready. We're going to St. Mercy's.”
Hannah stood.
“I'm coming.”
“No.”
She stiffened.
“Sophie trusts me. If there's a woman or a child there, they may be frightened of your men.”
Dominic looked at her bandaged hand, then toward the stairs.
“You stay here with Sophie.”
“Then make sure your people don't scare anyone who might be trying to help her.”
Dominic studied her for a moment.
“You're not afraid of me, are you?”
Hannah considered the question.
“I think you're capable of frightening people. But I'm not afraid to tell you when you're wrong.”
He almost smiled.
“Stay with Sophie.”
He left before she could argue.
At St. Mercy's, the address led Dominic to a modest brick building behind the church. The shelter's director, an older woman named Sister Catherine, listened to his explanation without interrupting.
When he showed her the note, her hands began to tremble.
“I wondered when someone would come.”
Dominic leaned forward.
“You know what this means?”
Sister Catherine looked toward the hallway.
“I know a woman brought a baby here four years ago. She asked us to keep the child's identity secret. She said the baby was in danger from powerful people.”
Dominic's heart pounded.
“Was the woman Isabella Moretti?”
Sister Catherine hesitated.
“She used another name.”
“What name?”
“Isabel Morgan.”
Dominic's face went pale.
“Where is she now?”
Sister Catherine shook her head.
“She left the baby with us, then disappeared. A few months later, a nurse came to collect the child under legal guardianship papers.”
“Who signed them?”
Sister Catherine looked down.
“The documents were signed by your wife.”
Dominic stared.
“Elena?”
“Yes.”
He took a step back.
That made no sense. Elena had died four years ago. The baby had supposedly been brought to the shelter around the same time.
“Show me the records.”
Sister Catherine led him to a small office and opened a locked cabinet.
Inside was a thin folder containing a photograph of a newborn wrapped in a yellow blanket.
On the back, someone had written a date.
And beneath it, a name.
Grace Moretti.
Dominic couldn't breathe.
He already had a daughter named Sophie.
But the date on the photograph was four years old.
The baby had been born months before Elena died.
Sister Catherine watched him carefully.
“Mr. Moretti, there's something you should understand. The woman who brought the baby here did not ask us to hide her from her father.”
Dominic looked up.
“Then whom was she hiding her from?”
Sister Catherine's voice dropped.
“From the people who wanted to use her as leverage against you.”
Dominic stared at the photograph.
The child in the yellow blanket had a tiny crescent-shaped birthmark near her left wrist.
The same mark he'd seen in the old photograph.
His phone rang.
Hannah.
He answered immediately.
“What's wrong?”
Her voice shook.
“Dominic, you need to come home.”
“What happened?”
“Vanessa is here.”
His blood turned cold.
“Get Sophie away from her.”
“I tried. But Vanessa says she has a court order.”
Dominic heard a child's frightened voice in the background.
Then Vanessa spoke.
“Dominic, you should come home before your maid tells your daughter another lie.”
The call ended.
Dominic looked at the photograph one last time.
Then he ran.
Because whatever had happened four years ago, the truth was no longer hidden in a teddy bear.
May you like
It was standing in his house.
And it had come for his daughter.
