Chapter 4 - THE WOMAN WHO LEFT A SUNFLOWER BEHIND
“My mother found those children?”
Olivia could barely recognize her own voice.
Anthony nodded.
Luca looked from his father to Olivia.
“Did your mother ever work for the Moretti Foundation?”
Olivia shook her head.
“My mother was a nurse at St. Catherine's Hospital. Her name was Margaret Parker.”
Anthony closed his eyes.
Then he reached for the photograph of Isabella Moretti again.
Olivia leaned closer.
“Mr. Moretti, my mother died two years ago. She never mentioned your family.”
Anthony's hand stopped.
He looked at her with such sadness that Olivia felt something tighten in her chest.
Her mother's final months had been difficult.
Margaret had battled a serious heart condition while Olivia was learning to care for Emma on her own.
There had been hospital bills, long nights, and countless conversations neither woman had been strong enough to finish.
Olivia still remembered the last thing her mother had told her.
Don't let anyone make you feel small just because you need help.
She had never understood why Margaret said it with such urgency.
Until now.
Luca pulled a chair beside his father.
“Dad, did Margaret discover something about the charity?”
Anthony nodded.
“Did she tell you?”
Another nod.
“Was that before your stroke?”
Anthony hesitated.
Then shook his head.
Daniel leaned forward.
“So Margaret discovered the problem before she died, but Anthony learned about it later?”
The old man tapped the armrest once.
Yes.
Luca looked at Olivia.
“Did your mother leave you any medical records or old papers?”
“Some photographs. Her nursing certificates. A few letters.”
“Anything from the foundation?”
“I don't remember.”
Anthony suddenly pointed at the sunflower embroidered on Olivia's apron.
He tapped it twice.
Then touched his chest.
Olivia looked down.
“My mother loved sunflowers.”
Anthony nodded eagerly.
“She grew them behind our apartment,” Olivia continued. “Emma used to pick the smallest ones and put them in jelly jars.”
The elderly man's eyes brightened.
He gestured toward the desk.
Daniel offered him a notepad.
Anthony struggled to hold the pen.
His first attempt produced a crooked line.
Luca gently steadied the paper without touching his father's writing hand.
After nearly a minute, Anthony wrote one word.
YELLOW.
Olivia frowned.
“Yellow flowers?”
Anthony shook his head.
Then wrote another word.
COAT.
Olivia's breath caught.
“My mother's yellow coat?”
Anthony nodded.
She remembered it immediately.
A mustard-yellow wool coat with brown buttons and a torn lining.
Margaret had worn it every winter for almost fifteen years.
Olivia had never donated it.
She couldn't.
It still hung in the back of her bedroom closet, wrapped in a plastic garment bag.
“There's something inside it,” she whispered.
Anthony squeezed her hand.
Luca stood.
“Daniel, arrange safe transportation for Olivia and an officer to accompany her. I don't want anyone from the Bellini organization approaching her apartment.”
Vanessa, who had been sitting silently near the window, lifted her head.
“Luca, please don't send her there yet.”
He turned.
“Why?”
“Because my father already knows about the coat.”
The words seemed to drain the warmth from the room.
Olivia stared.
“How?”
Vanessa pressed her lips together.
“He once told me Margaret Parker was the reason the charitable program had to be reorganized.”
“Reorganized?” Olivia repeated.
“Those were his words.”
“And you never thought to ask what he meant?”
“I did.”
“What did he say?”
Vanessa looked toward Anthony.
“He said Margaret had become emotionally involved with the patients. He claimed she'd made accusations she couldn't prove.”
Olivia's hands trembled.
“My mother spent thirty years caring for sick people.”
“I know.”
“No, you don't know anything about her.”
Vanessa accepted the anger without answering.
Luca watched the exchange.
For fourteen months, he had believed Vanessa was ambitious, socially polished, and occasionally cruel to employees.
He had excused too much because their engagement seemed useful to both families.
Now he was discovering how much cruelty could hide beneath the language of business.
He walked toward her.
“Is there anything else about Margaret you haven't told us?”
Vanessa hesitated.
“My father kept a photograph of her.”
Olivia looked up sharply.
“Where?”
“In his private office.”
“What photograph?”
Vanessa swallowed.
“Margaret standing beside your mother, Luca.”
Luca stiffened.
“My mother?”
Vanessa nodded.
“Your mother was holding a little girl.”
Olivia stared at the photograph of Isabella on Luca's desk.
“Who was the child?”
“I don't know.”
Anthony began striking his wheelchair arm.
Three taps.
Two taps.
Then he pointed toward Olivia.
Luca leaned closer.
“Dad, was Olivia the little girl?”
Anthony nodded so hard that his shoulders shook.
Olivia sat down.
She remembered very little from her earliest childhood.
Her mother had worked long shifts.
Money had always been tight.
But there were memories of a beautiful dark-haired woman who visited their apartment with books, soup, and a silver music box.
Olivia had always assumed she was one of Margaret's hospital friends.
“Isabella knew me?”
Anthony smiled through tears.
Luca looked at Olivia differently.
“My mother died when you were fourteen. She volunteered at children's hospitals for years.”
Olivia pressed her hand against her mouth.
“Why didn't anyone tell me?”
Anthony tried to answer, but exhaustion overtook him.
Luca noticed.
“Dad needs rest.”
Olivia nodded.
But she wasn't ready to leave.
“Mr. Moretti?”
Anthony looked at her.
“My mother wasn't dishonest. Whatever happened, she was trying to protect someone.”
He reached for her hand.
Then lifted it gently to his cheek.
It was the most affection Olivia had received from anyone outside her daughter in years.
She began crying.
Luca quietly turned toward Daniel.
“Make sure a physician checks him. And keep that transfer order from being executed.”
Daniel nodded.
“Understood.”
Vanessa spoke from her chair.
“The Bellini medical contracts are scheduled for renewal tomorrow.”
Luca looked at her.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“My father expects you to sign the shipping agreement before noon.”
“That's not happening.”
“Then he'll know I've talked.”
“He already knows something went wrong.”
Vanessa shook her head.
“You don't understand how he operates. He doesn't panic. He makes sure other people look guilty.”
Olivia stood.
“Like you tried to do to me.”
Vanessa lowered her eyes.
“Yes.”
Luca faced Daniel.
“Have the detectives arrange for Vanessa's statement tonight. She doesn't leave with her father's people.”
Vanessa didn't protest.
For the first time, she seemed relieved that someone else was making a decision.
Forty minutes later, Olivia returned to her apartment with Daniel and a plainclothes detective.
Mrs. Henderson was waiting with Emma.
The little girl rolled toward her mother in her pink wheelchair.
“Mommy!”
Olivia knelt and wrapped her arms around her.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
“Your hand looks yucky.”
Olivia laughed through tears.
“I know. The doctor is going to make it better.”
Emma kissed the uninjured hand.
“There.”
Olivia held her close.
For a moment, the world became small and simple again.
Her daughter.
Their home.
The smell of tomato soup coming from Mrs. Henderson's kitchen.
Then Olivia remembered the coat.
She asked Mrs. Henderson to sit with Emma while she went into the bedroom.
Daniel remained near the doorway.
Olivia opened the closet.
The yellow coat hung exactly where she'd left it.
She removed the garment bag.
The coat smelled faintly of lavender.
Her mother had always placed lavender sachets in winter clothing.
Olivia ran her fingers along the lining.
There was a small tear near the inside pocket.
She slipped two fingers through it.
Something stiff touched her hand.
An envelope.
Old.
Cream-colored.
Sealed with yellowed tape.
On the front, in Margaret Parker's handwriting, were five words.
FOR OLIVIA, WHEN IT'S SAFE.
Olivia's knees weakened.
Daniel brought a chair.
She carefully opened the envelope.
Inside was a photograph of eight children gathered around Isabella Moretti.
One child was Olivia.
Beside the photograph was a hospital visitor pass bearing Margaret's name.
And beneath it lay a handwritten letter.
Olivia unfolded the first page.
My darling Olivia,
If you're reading this, Anthony has finally found a way to reach you.
I wanted to tell you everything years ago, but I made a promise to Isabella, and breaking it would have put another child in danger.
Olivia blinked through tears.
She turned the page.
Then stopped breathing.
May you like
Her mother had written:
“THE EIGHTH CHILD WAS NEVER SUPPOSED TO BE EMMA. IT WAS YOU.”
