Chapter 5 - The Engagement Ring That Could Never Be Worn Again
"Elena gave your mother this rosary?"
Nathaniel's voice was barely audible.
Brianna nodded.
"That's what she told me."
He studied the little silver crucifix.
His mother had carried her own rosary every Sunday for as long as he could remember.
He still kept it in the drawer beside his bed.
Both pieces bore the same delicate bluebird.
Elena had commissioned matching religious keepsakes for two children.
One boy.
One girl.
Nathaniel closed his hand around the rosary.
"Where is your mother now?"
"At our house in Brookline."
"Does your father know she gave you this?"
"No."
"Good. Don't tell him."
Brianna looked at the engagement ring lying between them.
"Do you think we're related?"
Nathaniel looked into her eyes.
"I think our parents have been lying about us for forty-one years."
She began to cry.
He wanted to comfort her.
For nearly three years, Brianna had been part of his everyday life. He knew how she took her coffee, how she folded letters before reading them, and how she reached for his hand whenever she grew anxious.
But now every familiar gesture felt complicated.
He stepped backward.
"We need to stop the wedding."
Brianna nodded slowly.
"I know."
"And until we understand what happened, we need distance."
She wiped her face.
"Do you hate me?"
Nathaniel looked toward the doorway where Grace had stood hours earlier.
"I hate what you did to Grace."
"That's not what I asked."
"No," he said quietly. "I don't hate you."
For some reason, that made Brianna cry harder.
The next morning, Nathaniel went to Brookline with Aaron.
He found Theresa Whitmore sitting near a sunny window, a blanket across her knees.
She was a frail woman with neatly combed silver-blond hair.
A tremor moved through her right hand when she reached for her tea.
Nathaniel had met her many times, but they had rarely spoken privately.
"Your daughter gave me the rosary," he said.
Theresa closed her eyes.
"Then she finally asked the right questions."
Nathaniel sat opposite her.
"I need the truth."
"You deserve it."
"Did you adopt Brianna?"
"Yes."
"Was she born at St. Agnes Hospital?"
Theresa nodded.
"March eighteenth."
Nathaniel's stomach tightened.
"Did you know she had a twin brother?"
Theresa stared at him.
Then her lips parted.
"Oh, dear God."
She began shaking.
Nathaniel immediately reached for the glass of water beside her chair.
"Mrs. Whitmore, take your time."
Theresa drank.
For several moments, she simply stared at him.
Then she whispered, "They told us the boy was going to another family."
"Which family?"
"I didn't know."
"Did you know Diane Collins?"
Theresa nodded.
"Not personally. Thomas told me she was a young woman who couldn't support two children."
Nathaniel felt anger rising.
"That was a lie."
"I know that now."
"How?"
Theresa looked toward the hallway.
"Because Elena DeLuca came here eleven years ago."
Nathaniel froze.
Eleven years.
The same year Victor died.
"Elena was already dead by then."
Theresa shook her head.
"No, Nathaniel. She visited me eleven years before Victor died."
Nathaniel recalculated.
Twenty-two years earlier.
When he was nineteen.
The year Elena died.
Theresa gripped his hand.
"She came here three days before her funeral."
Nathaniel remembered that week.
Elena had seemed distracted.
She repeatedly asked whether he was happy and whether he understood that families were built by love, not simply blood.
He had laughed and told her to stop worrying.
Now he wanted those minutes back more than anything.
"What did she say?" he asked.
Theresa looked toward the garden.
"She said the children deserved to know where they came from."
"Children?"
"You and Brianna."
Nathaniel's hands went cold.
"She knew."
Theresa nodded.
"She'd been searching for your birth mother. She told me Victor had lied about the circumstances of the adoption."
"What did you do?"
"I begged her not to tell Thomas."
"Why?"
"Because I was afraid he'd take Brianna away."
Nathaniel struggled to understand.
"She was already nineteen."
"Thomas controlled everything. Her money, her schooling, her friendships. And he threatened to tell her she was unwanted if I ever questioned him."
Theresa began crying.
"I loved that little girl. I still do."
Nathaniel lowered his voice.
"Why didn't Elena tell me?"
"I don't know. She promised she'd come back after speaking to Victor."
"But she never did."
Theresa shook her head.
"Three days later, I heard she'd died."
Nathaniel remembered the official explanation.
A sudden cardiac event.
Elena had been healthy enough to go walking with him the day before.
He had never questioned it.
Until now.
Back at the mansion, Grace was sitting in the garden when Nathaniel returned.
He took the chair beside her.
"I spoke to Theresa."
Grace looked up.
"And?"
"Brianna was born at St. Agnes on March eighteenth."
Grace took a slow breath.
"Then she's your sister."
"We still need the records confirmed. But everything points there."
Grace was quiet.
Nathaniel stared across the lawn.
"My mother Elena knew."
"How long?"
"At least twenty-two years ago."
Grace watched his face.
"She loved you."
Nathaniel swallowed.
"She let me believe a lie."
"Those things can both be true."
He turned toward her.
Grace continued.
"My mother made mistakes too. She worked double shifts when Owen and I were little. She missed school plays and birthday dinners. But she did it because we needed a roof over our heads."
"Elena had money."
"That doesn't mean she had freedom."
Nathaniel looked away.
Grace touched the little blue sweater resting beside her.
"Maybe she was trying to find the right way to tell you."
He closed his eyes.
"I wish she'd had the chance."
That evening, Aaron discovered another problem.
A financial institution had issued a formal notice against three DeLuca properties.
Unless an outstanding loan was repaid within thirty days, the properties could enter foreclosure proceedings.
Nathaniel examined the documents.
"How much?"
"Twenty-eight million dollars."
Nathaniel gave a bitter laugh.
"That's more than the original loans."
"Interest and penalties."
"Who authorized them?"
"Martin."
"And who approved the transfer?"
Aaron hesitated.
"Charles Russell."
Nathaniel looked up.
"Russell?"
"The signature is his."
Nathaniel stared at the papers.
For forty years, Russell had been the family's attorney.
He was the man who had called during the blackout.
The man who had warned Nathaniel that his identity was the real secret.
Now his signature appeared on loans that threatened everything Victor had left behind.
"Find him," Nathaniel said.
Aaron shook his head.
"He's not at his office."
"At home?"
"No."
Nathaniel's jaw tightened.
Aaron continued.
"His receptionist says he resigned last week. He left a sealed envelope addressed to you."
"Where is it?"
Aaron placed the envelope on the desk.
Inside was a single photograph.
It showed Elena DeLuca seated beside Diane Collins.
Between them stood a little boy and a little girl, both about four years old.
Nathaniel recognized the little boy immediately.
Himself.
The girl had dark curls.
Brianna.
Both children wore matching blue sweaters.
On the back, Elena had written:
The day they finally met.
Nathaniel stared at the picture.
He had no memory of it.
Then he noticed a third child standing near the edge of the photograph.
A younger girl, perhaps two years old.
Her face had been partially hidden by Elena's hand.
Attached to the photograph was Russell's handwritten message.
The children met once. Martin made certain they never met again.
Nathaniel looked toward Aaron.
"Who is the third child?"
Aaron studied the picture.
"I don't know."
Nathaniel turned the photograph under the lamp.
There was another message, written faintly beneath the first.
Ask Diane what happened at the lake.
Grace entered just as Nathaniel read the words.
She saw the photograph.
Then she made a small, startled sound.
Nathaniel looked at her.
"Grace?"
She stepped closer.
"That's my mother's old summer dress."
"How do you know?"
"Because she wore it in a picture she kept beside her bed."
Grace pointed toward the small child.
"That's not a stranger."
Nathaniel waited.
May you like
Grace looked up, her eyes filling.
"That's me."
