Chapter 6 - THE SISTER THEY TRIED TO ERASE
“Sophie?”
I turned toward my sister.
She stood barefoot in the kitchen doorway, holding a glass of water.
Her eyes widened.
“What?”
Dad reached toward her.
She stepped back.
“Why is everybody looking at me?”
I wanted to answer.
But I couldn't.
For twenty-five years, I'd known her as Sophie Bennett.
My younger sister.
The girl who stole my sweaters, hated thunderstorms, and always asked me to check her dental appointments because she was frightened of anesthesia.
Now our father was telling us she'd been born with another name.
And that name belonged to a missing Moretti child.
“Dad,” I said carefully, signing as I spoke, “tell us what you mean.”
He looked at Sophie.
Then signed.
I should have told you when you were older.
Sophie stared at his hands.
She knew enough sign language to understand him.
“Older than what?” she asked. “I'm twenty-two.”
His face crumpled.
I was afraid.
Mrs. Moretti reached toward Sophie.
The younger woman hesitated.
Then came closer.
“Do I know you?”
Mrs. Moretti signed slowly.
You were little.
Yellow coat.
Sophie looked confused.
“I had a yellow coat?”
Dad nodded.
He went to the hallway closet and removed a small wooden box.
I'd seen it before.
It held our mother's wedding ring, old photographs, and the silver necklace Dad wore on special occasions.
But tonight he opened a compartment beneath the lining.
Inside lay a tiny white embroidered flower.
A brown button.
And a faded photograph.
My hands shook as I picked it up.
It was the same little girl from the Moretti library.
“Dad?”
He signed.
Your mother and I were asked to keep her safe.
Sophie sat down hard.
“Keep me safe from who?”
Dad looked toward Mrs. Moretti.
Her eyes filled.
My husband.
“Luca's grandfather?” I whispered.
She nodded.
Sophie looked at me.
“Who is Luca?”
“The man I work for.”
“The one whose mother is sitting in our kitchen?”
I nodded.
She stared at Mrs. Moretti.
Then at Dad.
“And you're saying I'm related to him?”
Dad signed.
His cousin.
Sophie began shaking her head.
“No.”
I knelt beside her.
“Sophie—”
“No, Claire. You don't understand.”
Her voice cracked.
“I've spent my whole life thinking I knew who I was.”
Dad tried to take her hand.
She pulled away.
“You lied to me.”
He nodded.
Yes.
The honesty surprised her.
He continued.
And I am sorry.
She looked down.
“Was Mom part of it?”
Dad nodded.
She loved you from the first day.
“Did she know I wasn't hers?”
Yes.
Sophie covered her face.
I remembered our mother brushing Sophie's hair before school.
The way she sat through every school play.
The nights she stayed awake when Sophie had fevers.
None of that had been pretend.
But the secret still hurt.
Mrs. Moretti began signing.
Patricia loved you.
Sophie looked up.
“My real mother?”
She nodded.
Very much.
Sophie started crying.
I wrapped my arms around her.
For several minutes, nobody spoke.
Then Dad signed something that changed the room.
There is more.
I looked at him.
“What?”
I didn't take Anna alone.
He turned toward Mrs. Moretti.
You remember.
She nodded.
Eleanor helped.
Dad pointed toward a photograph on the refrigerator.
It showed our mother, smiling beside him at their twentieth wedding anniversary.
And Mary.
I stared.
“Mom?”
He nodded.
My mother had helped rescue Sophie from the Moretti family.
The woman who taught me to make pancakes and insisted we always tell the truth had carried a secret to her grave.
“Why didn't she tell us?” I asked.
Dad looked at Sophie's face.
Because people were still looking.
Mrs. Moretti signed.
Husband's men.
Sophie wiped her cheeks.
“What did they want with me?”
Dad closed his eyes.
Then signed.
Your grandfather wanted something Patricia left you.
“What?”
I never knew.
Mrs. Moretti began moving her fingers.
Inheritance.
I translated.
Dad nodded slowly.
Patricia made arrangements before she died.
Luca had told me his aunt passed away after a long illness.
Apparently, she'd known what might happen to her daughter.
“Why would Grandpa Moretti hurt his own granddaughter over money?” Sophie asked.
Dad hesitated.
He was afraid of losing control.
Sophie laughed through her tears.
“That doesn't make any sense.”
Mrs. Moretti shook her head.
Not just money.
We waited.
She signed two words.
Shipping records.
My pulse quickened.
The Moretti fortune had started with shipping warehouses.
The same warehouses Luca still controlled.
And the same place where Eleanor's suitcase had been hidden.
Dad looked frightened.
Elena, don't.
She looked at him.
Enough.
For the first time, I understood how much courage it took for her to communicate these things.
She couldn't explain herself quickly.
Couldn't defend every sentence.
But she refused to stop.
I translated carefully.
“Patricia discovered that her brother-in-law had been using company accounts to hide illegal payments.”
Dad nodded.
She planned to expose him.
Mrs. Moretti continued.
He threatened child.
Sophie gripped my arm.
“My grandfather threatened me?”
Mrs. Moretti lowered her head.
Dad signed.
Patricia asked us to take you.
Sophie stared at him.
“So my birth mother gave me away to protect me?”
He nodded.
“She didn't abandon me?”
Never.
My sister began crying again.
This time, Mrs. Moretti held out both hands.
Sophie leaned forward.
And the older woman embraced her.
I watched them with tears burning my eyes.
For twenty-two years, they'd been separated by fear.
Now they were sitting together in a modest kitchen while the family that caused their pain lived in a mansion surrounded by gates.
But something still troubled me.
“Sophie is twenty-two,” I said. “That photograph was taken when Anna was around five. The dates don't fit.”
Dad looked at me.
Then nodded.
You're right.
I frowned.
“What?”
He signed slowly.
The child in the photograph wasn't Sophie.
I felt the room tilt.
“But you just said—”
Anna was her name.
He touched Sophie's shoulder.
When she came to us, we called her Sophie.
I stared at him.
“Then who is the little girl in the yellow coat?”
Dad looked toward Mrs. Moretti.
His hands trembled.
Her older sister.
Nobody moved.
Sophie looked up.
“I have a sister?”
Dad nodded.
You had one.
“Had?”
His expression darkened.
She disappeared before you came to us.
Mrs. Moretti began shaking her head.
Not disappeared.
Hidden.
I translated.
Dad stared at her.
Then she signed a name.
Rose.
The name seemed to strike him harder than anything else.
He grabbed the wooden box.
From beneath the photographs, he removed a small silver necklace.
A rose pendant hung from the chain.
He held it toward Mrs. Moretti.
Her eyes widened.
She reached for it with trembling fingers.
Then signed.
Patricia's first daughter.
Sophie stared.
“So my birth mother had two children?”
Mrs. Moretti nodded.
Dad looked devastated.
I was told Rose died.
Mrs. Moretti shook her head.
Alive.
I felt a chill.
“Where is Rose now?”
Mrs. Moretti looked toward the window.
Then at me.
Her fingers moved.
Near Luca.
I leaned closer.
“What do you mean?”
She signed three more words.
She knows him.
Sophie gripped my sleeve.
“Claire?”
I barely heard her.
Because Mrs. Moretti was staring at the necklace.
May you like
And she had just spelled the name of the person who'd given it to her.
V-A-N-E-S-S-A.
