Chapter 3 - The Prescription From a Dead Woman
Julian Moretti had seen men die for less than the information on his phone.
But nothing in his life had frightened him as much as those two words.
Elena Moretti.
His wife had been dead for three months.
The prescription bottle had been issued six weeks after her burial.
And someone had hidden it in his baby's nursery.
“Mr. Moretti?”
A pediatric resident stood in the hallway.
Julian locked his phone.
“Is my son alive?”
“Yes. He's stable.”
Julian closed his eyes.
For one brief moment, his knees felt unreliable.
The doctor continued.
“Leo experienced an episode involving breathing difficulty and low oxygen saturation. We're admitting him for monitoring.”
“What caused it?”
“We're investigating several possibilities, including cardiac and respiratory conditions. His symptoms need more evaluation.”
Julian nodded, though the words barely registered.
“Do whatever you need.”
“We will.”
The doctor hesitated.
“There's something else. Ms. Bennett mentioned that his symptoms seemed worse after feedings.”
Julian looked up.
“She noticed.”
“Yes. That's important information. We're reviewing his feeding history and medications, too.”
Julian remembered Sarah holding Leo at Giovanni's.
The way his son's crying had stopped.
The way she had immediately noticed something that three expensive nannies had missed.
He had believed she possessed some extraordinary instinct.
Now he understood something far simpler.
She had been paying attention.
His phone vibrated.
Marco.
Julian stepped into an empty consultation room.
“Talk.”
“We found the bottle behind a removable panel in the nursery cabinet.”
“Who put it there?”
“Don't know yet.”
“What's inside?”
“Tablets. We haven't touched them beyond securing the bottle.”
“Good. Get the police involved and have the contents tested.”
There was a pause.
“Police, boss?”
“My son nearly stopped breathing.”
Julian's voice became dangerously quiet.
“I don't care what they find.”
Marco understood.
“And Marco?”
“Yes?”
“Don't tell anyone what we found.”
Julian ended the call.
He turned toward the window overlooking the hospital parking garage.
For three months, he had accepted a terrible explanation for Elena's death.
An unexpected cardiac event.
A tragic complication after childbirth.
The doctors had told him it was rare.
They had told him nothing could have been done.
He had buried her beneath a white marble angel.
He had stood beside her grave with Leo in his arms and promised their son would never want for anything.
Now a prescription bottle bearing her name had appeared in the nursery.
And the date made no sense.
Sarah arrived at the hospital shortly after noon.
She had collected Lily from preschool and brought her to her longtime neighbor, Mrs. Alvarez, who had watched the little girl during Sarah's late shifts for years.
The trip across Chicago had taken nearly an hour.
By the time she reached the pediatric floor, her coat was soaked.
Julian was sitting alone.
He stood when he saw her.
“How is he?” Sarah asked.
“Stable.”
She pressed a hand against her chest.
“Thank God.”
Julian watched her.
“You didn't have to come.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Why?”
Sarah looked through the glass toward Leo's room.
“Because nobody that little should have to be scared alone.”
Julian said nothing.
She turned back.
“And because you looked like you were about to fall apart.”
A faint, humorless smile crossed his face.
“People don't usually say that to me.”
“Maybe they should.”
He looked at the floor.
“Elena used to.”
Sarah waited.
“She told me I confused being feared with being respected.”
“What happened to her?”
Julian's expression closed.
“She died after Leo was born.”
“I'm sorry.”
“Everyone says that.”
“It's still true.”
He studied her for a moment.
Then he took out his phone.
“I need to show you something.”
Sarah examined the photograph of the medicine bottle.
She frowned.
“That's your wife's name?”
“Yes.”
“And the date?”
“After she died.”
Sarah looked up sharply.
“That's impossible.”
“Apparently not.”
“Could it be a pharmacy error?”
“Maybe.”
She studied the photograph again.
“Why was it in Leo's room?”
“That's what I intend to find out.”
Sarah handed back the phone.
“Don't jump to conclusions until you know what's in it.”
Julian looked surprised.
“You're telling me to be patient?”
“I'm telling you your son needs a father who thinks clearly.”
He glanced toward Leo's room.
That silenced him.
Later that afternoon, the pediatric team reviewed Leo's medical history.
They had found no evidence of a major structural heart abnormality on the initial studies, but additional monitoring and testing were necessary.
His feeding difficulties could have several explanations.
They also wanted to investigate the possibility of inappropriate medication exposure.
Julian listened without interrupting.
Sarah stood near the doorway.
When the physician asked about Leo's daily routine, Julian could answer almost nothing.
How much formula did he drink?
Which nanny prepared his bottles?
Did he receive any medication for gas or reflux?
Who documented his symptoms?
Julian knew the names of men who controlled entire shipping terminals.
He did not know who measured his son's formula.
The realization was devastating.
After the doctor left, he sat beside Leo's hospital crib.
Sarah watched him gently touch the baby's hand.
“I'm his father,” Julian whispered.
“Yes.”
“And I don't know anything about him.”
“You can learn.”
He shook his head.
“Elena would have known.”
Sarah pulled a chair beside him.
“Maybe. But she would have had to learn, too.”
Julian looked at her.
“She wasn't born knowing how to be a mother.”
Sarah smiled faintly.
“Neither was I.”
He looked down at Leo.
“What if I'm too late?”
Sarah's voice softened.
“Then you make the time you have now count.”
For several minutes, neither spoke.
Then Julian's phone rang.
It was Marco again.
This time, his voice was different.
“Boss, the pharmacy confirmed the prescription was collected in person.”
“By whom?”
“Someone presented Elena's identification.”
Julian went cold.
“Who?”
“The security footage was archived. We got a copy.”
Julian rose.
“Send it.”
A video appeared on his phone.
Grainy footage showed a woman approaching the pharmacy counter.
She wore sunglasses and a dark coat.
She signed a receipt.
Then she turned toward the camera.
Julian stopped breathing.
He recognized the woman immediately.
Not Elena.
Not a stranger.
His younger sister.
May you like
Isabella Moretti.
And Isabella had been the person who arranged Elena's funeral.
