Chapter 9 - The Life They Tried to Steal
A year after I first served Table Twelve, the federal case against Salvatore Moretti began.
I testified.
Luca didn't want me to.
I insisted.
Salvatore's attorney tried to use my amnesia against me.
“Mrs. Moretti, isn't it true that large portions of your memory remain absent?”
“Yes.”
“So you cannot reliably tell this jury everything that happened.”
“No.”
He smiled.
I continued.
“But I can tell them what I recorded before my kidnapping. I can tell them where investigators found the clinic. I can tell them my DNA was recovered from the restraint chair. And I can tell them the medical records contained my blood samples under a false name.”
His smile disappeared.
Evidence did what memory couldn't.
Salvatore was convicted on multiple federal charges, along with the physician and several accomplices.
I walked out of court holding Luca's hand.
No revenge.
No celebration.
Just freedom.
We drove straight to Leo's daycare.
That mattered more.
He was nearly two.
Running now.
Talking constantly.
When he saw me, he shouted, “Mama!”
I crouched.
He collided with me.
Every time he said it, part of me still remembered Aurelia.
The first Mama.
The impossible Mama.
I kissed him.
“Did you have fun?”
“Paint.”
His shirt confirmed this.
Luca sighed.
“That shirt cost—”
I glared.
He stopped.
“It's a beautiful shirt for paint.”
“Good answer.”
Our marriage wasn't magically perfect.
Memory loss doesn't work like movies.
Some memories never returned.
I occasionally woke confused.
Crowded parking garages frightened me.
Thunderstorms were worse.
Sometimes Luca became overprotective.
Sometimes I became furious about it.
We went to therapy.
Individually.
Together.
Luca complained for the first three sessions.
Then became annoyingly enthusiastic about communication.
“You're weaponizing therapy language,” I told him once.
“I am expressing a boundary.”
“You learned that Tuesday.”
“It remains valid Friday.”
I threw a pillow.
He caught it.
Leo applauded.
Ordinary life became our greatest luxury.
Sunday pancakes.
Bath time.
Arguments about groceries.
Luca reading children's books in the terrifying voice he normally reserved for business meetings.
I returned to nursing school.
The first day, Luca drove me.
“You don't need to walk me inside.”
“I know.”
“You're walking me inside.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He looked offended.
“My wife is starting school.”
I stared.
“You run three companies.”
“Four.”
“That's worse.”
He kissed me.
“Go.”
Two years earlier, Sofia had dreamed of becoming a pediatric nurse.
Avery finished what she started.
At graduation, Leo ran onto the stage before my name was called.
The audience laughed.
Luca chased him.
That made them laugh harder.
I stood there in my graduation gown watching Philadelphia's supposedly terrifying Luca Moretti negotiate with a toddler.
“Papa, no!”
“Leo.”
“No!”
“Come here.”
“No!”
I laughed until I cried.
Then Leo spotted me.
“Mama!”
He ran.
I caught him.
The audience applauded.
Luca stopped several feet away.
Our eyes met.
For a moment, I saw everything.
The NICU.
The empty crib.
Aurelia.
The warehouse.
The chapel.
The life we almost didn't have.
That evening, Luca gave me a small box.
Inside was my old wedding ring.
I hadn't worn it since returning.
Not because I rejected him.
Because I'd needed to choose him rather than inherit him.
“Are you asking me something?” I whispered.
“Yes.”
He knelt.
I laughed.
“We're already married.”
“I know.”
“Then this is legally unnecessary.”
“Sofia.”
I froze.
Then smiled.
He corrected himself.
“Avery Sofia Moretti.”
That was who I had become.
“Will you marry me again?”
Leo dropped to his knees beside him because apparently he thought kneeling was a family activity.
“Mama marry Papa!”
I covered my mouth.
There was only one possible answer.
“Yes.”
But our second wedding would contain one guest neither Luca nor I expected.
May you like
A woman who had spent nearly three years searching for the daughter everyone told her was dead.
My mother.
