Chapter 3 - THE LITTLE BOY EVERYONE BLAMED FOR HIS MOTHER'S DEATH
“You were eight years old, Daniel. How could Dad possibly blame you for Mom's death?”
Luca stared at his younger brother.
Daniel pressed both hands against the kitchen counter.
“Because I did what I was told.”
“By whom?”
Daniel looked toward the broken cabinet.
“Edwin Sinclair.”
Margaret sat down heavily.
Outside, the snow continued falling.
Inside, Daniel began telling us a story he'd never spoken aloud.
Twenty-nine years earlier, Ridgeway Mill had stood on land owned by the Moretti family and managed jointly with Sinclair Development.
Behind it were twelve small workers' cottages.
Several families had lived there for generations.
Sofia Moretti had been helping those families challenge a redevelopment agreement.
She believed the agreement would leave them without homes or fair compensation.
“Mom kept meeting with them,” Daniel said. “Dad hated it.”
Luca frowned.
“Dad told me the mill closed because it wasn't profitable.”
“That wasn't the whole story.”
Daniel rubbed his forehead.
“One afternoon, Mr. Sinclair came to our house. He gave me a red mitten because I'd lost one outside.”
Margaret looked toward the charred wool on the table.
Daniel nodded.
“That one.”
“He told me he needed to deliver something to the mill after closing. Said he'd forgotten his gate key.”
Luca's jaw tightened.
“And you opened it.”
Daniel nodded.
“I wanted him to like me. He was Dad's important business partner.”
His voice became smaller.
“He told me not to tell Mom because it was a surprise.”
An hour later, smoke poured from the old mill.
The fire spread into storage buildings and damaged several cottages.
People escaped, but one elderly watchman suffered serious burns.
The following week, several families were told their homes were unsafe and would have to be demolished.
“Mom started asking questions,” Daniel said.
“She kept saying the fire didn't make sense.”
Luca looked at the photograph.
“And Dad?”
“Dad had terrible arguments with her.”
Daniel swallowed.
“Six nights after the fire, Mom left the house during a snowstorm. Her car went off the road.”
He stared at his shoes.
“At her funeral, Dad found me crying in my bedroom.”
“What did he say?”
Daniel could barely speak.
“He said if I hadn't opened that gate, none of it would have happened.”
Luca stepped backward.
Margaret began weeping quietly.
“I tried to tell him he wasn't responsible,” she whispered. “But Vittorio wouldn't allow us to discuss the fire.”
Daniel wiped his face.
“I believed him. All these years.”
“Then why come here tonight?” Luca demanded.
Daniel looked ashamed.
“Edwin found out Margaret had the cabinet key. He told me there was evidence inside proving what I'd done.”
“And you believed him?”
“He had a recording.”
Luca went still.
“What recording?”
“An old security tape. It shows me opening the gate for a man carrying two metal cans.”
Daniel looked at his brother.
“Edwin said if that tape became public, people would blame our family for the fire. He said they'd blame me.”
Luca's expression hardened.
“So he used your guilt to make you forge the property transfer.”
Daniel nodded.
“I thought I was protecting you.”
“You were protecting a secret.”
“I know.”
Luca looked toward Margaret.
“And you were willing to throw our aunt out of her home to protect it.”
Daniel covered his face.
That accusation hurt him more than anything else.
The sheriff had already begun investigating the break-in and forged transfer.
Luca asked that Daniel cooperate fully.
Then he turned to me.
“Natalie, would you help Aunt Margaret pack a few things? The kitchen isn't safe until the damage is repaired.”
I followed Margaret upstairs.
Her bedroom was small and neat.
A quilt lay across the bed.
Beside it stood a framed photograph of Sofia laughing in a summer garden.
Margaret touched the frame.
“She loved those boys so much.”
I noticed something tucked behind it.
A folded sheet of stationery.
“What's that?”
Margaret hesitated.
“A letter.”
She handed it to me.
It had arrived three years earlier.
The message was supposedly from Luca.
Please stop writing to me. Daniel and I have moved on. Your constant reminders of our mother aren't healthy.
My stomach tightened.
“Mr. Moretti wrote this?”
Margaret looked away.
“I thought he did.”
“Did you ever ask him?”
“I tried calling. The family office told me he was unavailable.”
I remembered Luca's reaction when Margaret appeared at the engagement party.
He'd been genuinely shocked.
I brought the letter downstairs.
“Mr. Moretti, you need to see this.”
He read it.
His face changed.
“I never wrote this.”
Daniel stopped moving.
Luca looked at him.
“Have you seen it before?”
Daniel stared at the floor.
“Edwin told me Aunt Margaret was becoming confused. He said she was upsetting you with stories about Mom.”
“Daniel.”
“He told me to approve some correspondence from the family office.”
Luca held up the page.
“You didn't even read what you were sending?”
Daniel shook his head.
“I should have.”
For a long moment, Luca said nothing.
Then he folded the letter carefully.
“Margaret lost three years with us because you trusted Edwin Sinclair more than your own family.”
Daniel's eyes filled again.
“I know.”
But there was another discovery waiting.
While the deputies photographed the damaged kitchen, I helped gather the contents of the broken drawer.
Among the scattered papers was an old repair receipt.
It carried the name of a Chicago watchmaker.
Dated three weeks after Sofia's death.
The item repaired was a silver wristwatch.
The customer was Edwin Sinclair.
I stared at it.
“Mr. Moretti?”
Luca approached.
“Look at this.”
He read the receipt twice.
Then he examined the watch.
Its glass was cracked, but the clasp had been replaced.
“If this was Mom's watch, why did Edwin have it repaired?”
Margaret turned pale.
“Because it wasn't Sofia's watch.”
Luca looked at her.
“What?”
She took the watch and opened its clasp.
Inside was an inscription.
To V. On our twentieth anniversary. — S.
Luca frowned.
“Vittorio.”
Margaret nodded.
“Your mother gave it to your father.”
Luca looked back at the repair receipt.
“Then how did Edwin Sinclair get Dad's watch three weeks after Mom died?”
Margaret sank into a chair.
“Your father told everyone he'd lost that watch on the night of the accident.”
Daniel stared at the silver case.
“Edwin told me Dad wasn't anywhere near the road.”
Luca looked up slowly.
“Why would he tell you that?”
Daniel swallowed.
“Because the police thought Dad had followed Mom that night.”
Luca's voice dropped.
“And did he?”
Margaret wiped away a tear.
“I don't know.”
Then she said something that made the room turn cold.
“But I remember seeing your father come home that night.”
Luca waited.
Margaret looked straight at him.
“His coat was covered in snow.”
“And?”
“There was blood on his cuff.”
May you like
She touched the cracked watch.
“And he wasn't wearing his wedding ring.”
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