Chapter 9 - My Sister Finally Told Me What Happened at Christmas
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Paula called me two days after Christmas.
I almost ignored her.
My sister had spent years pretending not to notice the way our parents treated Renee.
But I answered.
“Michael?”
Her voice sounded strained.
“Can we talk?”
“You had your chance at Christmas.”
“I know.”
I waited.
Then she whispered:
“I'm sorry.”
It was the first time Paula had apologized for anything involving Renee.
I said nothing.
She continued.
“Sophie and Emma have been asking questions.”
“What questions?”
“Why Renee had to wash the dishes. Why Grandma said she wasn't family.”
I closed my eyes.
“What did you tell them?”
“The truth. That Grandma was wrong.”
I leaned against my desk.
“And what did you tell Renee when she was standing there alone?”
Paula began crying.
“Nothing.”
Her answer hurt because it was honest.
“I watched it happen,” she whispered. “I knew it was cruel. I just didn't want to challenge Mom.”
“Renee was six, Paula.”
“I know.”
“She couldn't defend herself.”
“I know.”
I took a breath.
“What do you want from me?”
Paula hesitated.
Then said:
“I think there's something you need to see.”
We met that afternoon at my office.
She arrived carrying a small leather notebook.
“I found this in Mom's desk last summer,” she said.
I frowned.
“Why did you take it?”
“Because she had been asking me strange questions about Renee.”
“What questions?”
Paula opened the notebook.
“She wanted to know whether you planned to leave Renee any part of your estate.”
I stared at her.
“Of course I do.”
“That's what I told her.”
“And?”
Paula looked down.
“She became furious.”
I remembered my mother's obsession with inheritance.
She believed the DeLuca name should remain attached to wealth and bloodline.
But this was something different.
Paula turned several pages.
There were handwritten notes about trust distributions, family assets, and Renee's legal status.
One sentence had been underlined twice.
Remove beneficiary designation before seventh birthday.
I felt my stomach tighten.
“What does that mean?”
“I don't know.”
I looked at Paula.
“Why didn't you show me sooner?”
She wiped her eyes.
“Because I was afraid of Mom.”
I stared at the notebook.
Then Paula reached into her handbag.
“There was another reason I came.”
She removed an old photograph.
It showed Carmen standing beside a dark-haired woman outside a brick building.
The woman held a little girl.
Renee.
But another child stood partly behind her.
A boy.
Older than Renee.
I leaned closer.
“Who is he?”
Paula shook her head.
“I don't know.”
“Where did you get this?”
“Mom kept it in a locked drawer.”
I examined the photograph.
The boy wore a blue winter coat and held a small wooden toy airplane.
On the back, someone had written:
Elena and children — November.
Children.
Plural.
I looked up.
“Paula, was Renee's mother raising two children?”
My sister nodded slowly.
“I think so.”
I felt the room turn cold.
“What happened to the boy?”
Paula stared at me.
May you like
Then whispered:
“That's what I've been trying to find out.”
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