Chapter 10 - THE CHILD IN THE OLD PHOTOGRAPH
Damian stared at the photograph.
“The child must never know why.”
Isabelle watched his expression.
He turned the picture over again.
Clara Hale stood between his father and Victor.
The newborn was wrapped in a white blanket.
“Who's the baby?”
Isabelle hesitated.
“I don't know for certain.”
Damian looked at her.
“Then why bring this to me now?”
“Because I found it among the records Margaret recovered, and because your father's diary mentions Clara more than once.”
Damian sat back.
Lily was asleep upstairs.
Elena was reading in her sitting room.
For the first time in years, the house was peaceful.
And here was another piece of a past that refused to stay buried.
“Isabelle, we've already lost four years.”
She nodded.
“I know.”
“I don't want another secret destroying this family.”
“Neither do I. That's why I'm telling you.”
He looked down at the photograph.
There had been a time when he would have demanded answers.
Tonight he simply asked, “Will you help me understand it?”
Isabelle smiled faintly.
“Yes.”
The next morning, they visited Margaret together.
She had moved into a quiet assisted-living apartment in Evanston.
Damian pushed Isabelle's chair down the corridor when her leg became tired.
She protested gently.
“I can walk.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you pushing?”
“Because you asked me to bring the chair.”
Isabelle looked back at him.
He smiled.
She shook her head, amused.
It was a small exchange.
But four years earlier, even that kindness had seemed impossible.
Margaret received them beside a window overlooking a garden.
When Damian placed the photograph on her lap, she went still.
“Where did you find this?”
“In my father's records.”
Margaret studied the image.
Then she looked at Isabelle.
“You've told him?”
“Only what we know.”
Margaret sighed.
“The baby is Adrian.”
Damian stared.
“Adrian Hale?”
“Yes.”
“Victor's nephew?”
Margaret nodded slowly.
“That's what everyone was told.”
Damian looked at the photograph again.
“Clara was Victor's sister.”
“Yes.”
“Then why would my father write that the child must never know why?”
Margaret looked toward the garden.
“Because Adrian's father was a man Victor despised.”
“Who?”
“A young accountant named Michael Brennan.”
Damian frowned.
He had heard the name before.
Michael Brennan had worked for the Vescari charitable foundation decades earlier.
“He disappeared,” Damian remembered.
Margaret nodded.
“Victor accused him of stealing money. Your father knew the accusation wasn't true.”
Damian looked at Isabelle.
The similarity was unmistakable.
Victor had been using the same strategy for decades.
Destroy someone's reputation.
Isolate them.
Make their loved ones doubt them.
“What happened to Michael?” Damian asked.
Margaret closed her eyes.
“He left Chicago after Clara begged him to. Victor threatened to expose their relationship and ruin their careers.”
“And Adrian?”
“Clara raised him. Victor insisted the family never mention Michael.”
Damian looked at the photograph.
“Why did my father keep this?”
“Because he tried to protect Clara and Adrian. Michael left behind correspondence showing he had challenged Victor's handling of foundation money.”
Damian felt anger building again.
“Did Michael know he had a son?”
Margaret nodded.
“Yes. He wrote letters to Adrian for years. Victor intercepted them.”
Isabelle reached for Damian's hand.
“Adrian believed his father had abandoned him.”
Margaret looked at Damian.
“Victor made him believe that. Just as he made you believe Isabelle betrayed you.”
Damian remained silent.
Adrian was facing serious criminal consequences for what he had done to Isabelle.
Nothing could erase that.
But he had also spent his life believing another lie.
“Where is Michael now?” Damian asked.
Margaret hesitated.
“He died seven years ago.”
Damian looked down.
Another family separated by Victor's deception.
“Are the letters still here?”
Margaret nodded.
“I kept them.”
She opened a cabinet and removed a small wooden box.
Inside were dozens of envelopes tied with a faded blue ribbon.
Each was addressed to Adrian.
Damian lifted the first.
The handwriting was unfamiliar.
The postmark read Seattle.
He opened it carefully.
Dear Adrian, I hope someday you'll know that I did not leave because I stopped loving you.
Damian swallowed.
Isabelle touched his shoulder.
“What should we do?” she asked.
Damian looked at the letters.
“Give them to him.”
Margaret hesitated.
“He's in custody.”
“I know.”
“He may not want them.”
“Then he can decide.”
Damian closed the box.
“For once, somebody in this family deserves the truth without another person deciding whether he can handle it.”
That afternoon, Damian arranged for Adrian's attorney to receive the letters through the proper process.
He included no demand for forgiveness.
No promise of protection.
Only a short note.
Your father wrote to you. You should have these.
At Greystone that evening, Lily was waiting by the stairs.
“Daddy Damian!”
He picked her up.
She examined his face seriously.
“You sad?”
“A little.”
She patted his cheek.
“Cookie?”
Damian laughed softly.
“That might help.”
She reached into her pocket and offered him a broken chocolate chip cookie.
He accepted it.
Then she pointed toward the sitting room.
“Mama Isabelle says flowers need water.”
Damian looked through the doorway.
Isabelle sat by the piano.
Elena stood beside her arranging yellow roses.
He smiled.
“Then we'd better help.”
Lily wriggled down.
As she ran toward the flowers, Isabelle looked up.
“Everything okay?”
Damian nodded.
“Not everything.”
Then he looked at the people waiting for him.
“But the important things are getting better.”
Later, after Lily's bedtime story, Isabelle found Damian in the old study.
He was reading his father's diary.
“Any more surprises?” she asked gently.
Damian turned a page.
Then stopped.
A small photograph slipped from between the sheets.
It showed his father standing beside a young woman in a hospital corridor.
The woman held a baby wrapped in a blue blanket.
Damian recognized the hospital immediately.
It was the same clinic where Elena had worked.
He turned the photograph over.
On the back was a date.
Twenty-nine years ago.
May you like
And beneath it, in his father's handwriting:
Elena Parker.
