Chapter 11 - The Woman in the Photograph|
Gabriel showed the photographs to Lucia the following morning.
She stared at the image of the young woman for a long time before placing it face down.
“Where did you get this?”
“It was delivered to the estate.”
“Who delivered it?”
“We're checking.”
Lucia closed her eyes.
“Isabella was your father's cousin.”
“Why have I never heard of her?”
“Because the family stopped speaking about her.”
“Why?”
His mother looked toward the door.
“She became ill when she was young. The family believed her condition would damage the reputation of the Moretti name, so they sent her away to live with relatives.”
Gabriel stared at her.
“What condition?”
“I don't know the exact diagnosis. I was much younger, and the adults didn't discuss it openly. I only remember that she became very weak and spent months in the hospital.”
“Was it cancer?”
Lucia shook her head.
“I don't know.”
“Did she die?”
“That is what I was told.”
Gabriel looked at the photograph again.
The young woman had dark eyes and a delicate smile. She wore a plain hospital gown, and one hand rested on a blanket pulled up to her chest.
Beside her stood Gabriel's father, much younger than he remembered him, with one hand resting on the bedrail.
“Why would someone send this now?”
“Because they want you to believe your father hid something.”
“Did he?”
Lucia hesitated.
“He hid many things. But I don't know whether this was one of them.”
Gabriel took the photographs to Evelyn, who began searching the family's archived records. The name Isabella appeared in an old estate file, but the medical information had been removed. A death certificate had been filed in another state, signed by a physician whose practice had closed decades earlier.
The paperwork was incomplete.
There was no proof that Isabella had died when the family claimed she had.
“Could she still be alive?” Gabriel asked.
Evelyn considered the dates.
“It's possible, but unlikely. She would be in her seventies now. We need to find the original records before drawing conclusions.”
Gabriel felt an unfamiliar unease.
The Moretti family had built its reputation on certainty. People knew who held power, who inherited money, and who was expected to obey.
But the documents suggested that the family had spent generations concealing illness, altering records, and deciding which truths were too inconvenient to acknowledge.
He returned to Anna's room.
She was sitting by the window, wrapping a soft scarf around her head. Her hair had begun to thin further, and she had decided to wear the scarf on days when she didn't feel comfortable looking in the mirror.
He sat beside her.
“I found another family secret.”
Anna gave a tired smile.
“Of course you did.”
He told her about Isabella.
When he finished, Anna looked at the photograph.
“She looks frightened.”
“She was in a hospital.”
“I know. But look at her hand.”
Gabriel leaned closer.
Isabella's fingers were curled tightly around the edge of the blanket.
Anna traced the image with one finger.
“That's how I sit when I'm waiting for the doctor to come back.”
He felt a sharp ache in his chest.
“I wish I could take all of this away from you.”
“I know.”
“I would if I could.”
“I know that too.”
She set the photograph down.
“But you can't make me well by finding every secret in your family. You can help me by being here when I'm frightened, even when there isn't anything useful to say.”
Gabriel took her hand.
“I can do that.”
“Then stay with me for a while.”
He stayed.
They talked about ordinary things: the garden, the café they used to visit, and the trip they had planned before Anna became ill. They had intended to spend a week on the coast, where Gabriel could turn off his phone and Anna could sleep late without worrying about the household schedule.
She had laughed when he suggested it.
“You won't last a day without checking your messages.”
“Watch me.”
“You'll find a way to turn off the ocean if it interferes with your meetings.”
He had kissed her and promised they would go.
Now he asked whether she still wanted to travel.
“Not yet,” she said. “But maybe someday.”
He nodded.
“Then we'll wait until you're ready.”
She studied him.
“You're learning.”
“I have a good teacher.”
That evening, Evelyn called with an update.
A retired nurse had been found who remembered Isabella's hospitalization. The nurse confirmed that Isabella had been transferred to a private clinic shortly before her supposed death. The clinic's records had been destroyed, but the nurse remembered a man who visited her regularly.
Gabriel's father.
“He visited her for years,” Evelyn said. “And he continued sending money after the family declared her dead.”
Gabriel went still.
“Where did the money go?”
“To a care facility in Wisconsin. The payments stopped only six months ago.”
“Find the facility.”
“We already have the address.”
Gabriel looked toward Anna, who had fallen asleep with the photograph resting beside her.
For the first time, he wondered whether his father had been trying to protect someone rather than hide them.
The facility's name was written on the back of the report.
May you like
St. Agnes Residence.
And the final payment had been made under Anna's name.
