Chapter 3 - THE BLUE BOX HIS MOTHER LEFT BEHIND
"Who told you that you don't belong here?"
Vincent's voice had changed.
It wasn't the commanding tone he'd used with his employees.
It was the voice of a father struggling to understand why his little boy was afraid of him.
Daniel twisted the blue ribbon around his finger.
"Miss Vanessa said Mommy had a secret."
Vanessa stood.
"Vincent, we need to discuss this privately."
"No. You've had plenty of private conversations with my son."
Several guests exchanged uncomfortable looks.
I wanted to disappear.
Instead, Vincent pulled out the chair beside Daniel.
"Rachel, sit here."
"Sir, I'm working."
"Not anymore."
Marco quietly instructed the other servers to continue the banquet in the adjoining dining room.
Within minutes, the head table was almost empty.
Only Vincent, Vanessa, Daniel, Marco, and I remained.
Vincent held out his hand.
"May I see the key?"
Daniel shook his head.
"Mommy said it was mine."
Vincent paused.
Then he nodded.
"Then you keep it."
For the first time, Daniel looked directly into his father's eyes.
"You're not mad?"
"No, buddy."
Vanessa gave a frustrated sigh.
"Elizabeth filled that boy's head with nonsense. She was frightened and confused during her final illness."
Vincent looked at her.
"You knew about the box?"
"Of course. Elizabeth had jewelry, letters, little sentimental things."
"Then why did you tell Daniel those things could destroy his place in this family?"
Vanessa's expression tightened.
"Because I was trying to protect him from something his mother left behind."
"What?"
She hesitated.
"Something about his birth."
Daniel looked down.
I felt a sudden urge to reach for his hand.
Instead, I pushed his fresh dinner closer.
"Your food's getting cold," I whispered.
He looked at me.
"Can I eat it?"
"Absolutely."
Vincent heard.
His face tightened with shame.
"Daniel, you never need permission to eat dinner in your own home."
The boy picked up his fork.
Three bites later, his shoulders began to relax.
Vincent turned toward Vanessa.
"Tell me what Elizabeth supposedly wrote."
"She believed Daniel wasn't your biological son."
The room became painfully quiet.
Vincent didn't move.
I watched him absorb those words.
Then he looked at Daniel.
The child had stopped chewing.
Vanessa continued.
"Elizabeth had reasons to question the circumstances of his birth. She wrote about them before she died."
Vincent spoke through clenched teeth.
"And you thought the appropriate response was to frighten a nine-year-old?"
"I thought you deserved the truth before marrying me."
"Then why tell him instead of me?"
Vanessa had no answer.
Marco cleared his throat.
"Sir, perhaps Daniel should go somewhere comfortable."
Vincent nodded.
I rose immediately.
But Daniel caught my sleeve.
"Will you come?"
"Of course."
Vincent stood.
"I'll come too."
Vanessa reached for his arm.
"Vincent, please. You need to understand what Elizabeth was hiding."
He looked at her hand until she released him.
"Whatever Elizabeth did, Daniel is my son."
We accompanied Daniel upstairs to his bedroom.
It was enormous.
Expensive furniture.
Shelves of untouched toys.
Beautiful paintings.
But there were no photographs of his mother.
Not one.
Daniel noticed me looking.
"Miss Vanessa put them away."
Vincent stopped.
"When?"
"After Christmas."
Vincent glanced at Marco.
"Find them."
Then Daniel walked to his dresser and removed a battered wooden jewelry box painted pale blue.
Its corners were scratched.
A small brass lock protected the lid.
He placed it on his bed.
"Mommy gave me this before she went to the hospital."
Vincent stared at the box.
"I remember."
Daniel inserted the silver key.
The lock clicked.
Inside were a pearl bracelet, a photograph, and a folded piece of cream-colored stationery.
Daniel picked up the photograph.
It showed Elizabeth holding a newborn baby.
Vincent stood beside her.
Both were smiling.
But someone else appeared in the background.
A younger woman in a hospital uniform.
I recognized her face.
My mother.
Margaret Bennett.
She had died six years ago.
I hadn't seen that photograph before.
My knees nearly weakened.
"Mr. Moretti," I whispered.
Vincent looked at me.
"That's my mother."
He studied the photograph.
Then his expression hardened.
"Your mother worked at St. Catherine's Hospital?"
"Yes. She was a maternity nurse."
Vincent slowly turned the photograph over.
Written across the back were five words in Elizabeth's handwriting.
Margaret knows what they changed.
Beneath those words was a date.
Daniel's birthday.
Vincent looked at me.
"What did your mother know?"
"I don't know, sir."
Then Daniel unfolded the letter.
His small face wrinkled.
"There's something written here."
Vincent took the page.
As he read, the color drained from his face.
He handed it to me.
May you like
The first sentence read:
"If anyone ever questions Daniel's place in this family, find Margaret Bennett. She was the only person who refused to sign the corrected birth record."
