Chapter 15 - The Sister Who Had Been Searching for Me
I became obsessed with Elena's letters.
Not the investigation.
Her.
I read about the woman she actually was.
She hated peas.
Loved old movies.
Collected hotel soaps.
Had once driven four hours because she heard a bakery sold the best cinnamon rolls in the state.
Dominic confirmed every ridiculous detail.
“She made me go.”
“You didn't have to.”
“She was pregnant.”
“That's not an argument.”
“She cried.”
“You're weak.”
“I know.”
Sofia joined us.
“Elena could make Dominic do anything.”
Dominic objected.
Sofia listed examples for twenty minutes.
I laughed until my stomach hurt.
For months, I had been discovering Elena through fear.
Now I discovered her through joy.
That mattered.
Marisol moved closer to the city.
We had dinner once a week.
Sometimes those dinners ended in arguments.
Sometimes tears.
Sometimes silence.
But she showed up.
So did I.
Forgiveness did not happen all at once.
It happened in pieces.
A phone call.
A birthday card.
An apology repeated without excuses.
One afternoon, she handed me a journal.
“Elena left this with me.”
I opened it.
The final pages described me.
A sister she had never met.
Elena wrote about standing across the street from Orelio one evening.
She had seen me through the window.
I remembered that night vaguely.
A storm.
A slow shift.
A woman under an umbrella across the street.
I had thought she was waiting for a taxi.
She had been my twin.
I almost walked inside.
The journal entry continued.
Then I saw Elina laughing with another waitress, and she looked happy. I became afraid that entering her life would destroy whatever peace she had.
I closed my eyes.
“She was right there.”
Marisol nodded.
“Why didn't you make her go inside?”
“I tried.”
“Why didn't you call me?”
“I was afraid.”
I nearly said the old words.
You were always afraid.
But I stopped.
Because I finally understood something.
Fear had controlled my family for thirty years.
Punishing Marisol forever would let it control us longer.
So I asked:
“Were you happy she found you?”
Marisol cried.
“Yes.”
“Did you love her?”
“With everything I had.”
“And me?”
She touched my face.
“More than my life.”
For the first time, I believed her without anger attached.
A week later, Dominic took me to dinner.
Not Orelio.
A tiny Italian restaurant where nobody recognized him.
He wore a blue shirt instead of black.
I stared.
“What?”
“You own colors.”
“I've always owned colors.”
“I've never seen evidence.”
He rolled his eyes.
We ate pasta.
We talked about ordinary things.
Work.
Leo.
A movie Sofia wanted us to watch.
Halfway through dessert, Dominic became nervous.
It was deeply entertaining.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“You look ill.”
“I'm fine.”
“You've checked your watch twelve times.”
“I have a meeting.”
“At ten at night?”
“No.”
I laughed.
“What is happening?”
He exhaled.
“I want to ask you something.”
My heart jumped.
“Okay.”
“Would you go on a date with me?”
I stared.
He looked irritated.
“Why are you staring?”
“This isn't a date?”
“No.”
“We're eating dinner alone.”
“Yes.”
“You wore blue.”
“That wasn't deliberate.”
“Dominic.”
“I wanted tonight to be normal.”
I smiled.
“And the next one?”
“A date.”
I looked at him.
Months had passed.
Enough time to know what I felt wasn't inherited from Elena.
Enough time to know he wasn't trying to recreate her.
Enough time for both of us to choose.
“Yes.”
He blinked.
“Yes?”
“Yes.”
“That was easier than expected.”
“Do you want me to change my answer?”
“No.”
He smiled.
And for once, the future didn't frighten me.
Our first official date was terrible.
Leo got sick.
Sofia canceled babysitting.
Dominic burned dinner.
I reminded him Elena apparently shared his culinary talent.
We spent the evening eating takeout while Leo slept between us on the sofa.
It was perfect.
No luxury restaurant.
No bodyguards.
No secrets.
Just three people learning how to exist together.
Late that night, Dominic kissed me.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Then immediately pulled back.
“What?”
He looked uncertain.
“I thought of Elena.”
My stomach tightened.
He continued.
“Not because you reminded me of her.”
I waited.
“Because I felt guilty.”
I understood.
“We don't have to do this.”
“I want to.”
“Then we take our time.”
He nodded.
I touched his face.
“She loved you.”
“I know.”
“She wanted you to live.”
His eyes closed.
“I know.”
“So live.”
The second kiss was different.
Not haunted.
Not borrowed.
Ours.
And somewhere upstairs, Leo began crying at the exact worst moment.
Dominic rested his forehead against mine.
“He has incredible timing.”
I laughed.
“Go get your son.”
“Our son,” he said automatically.
We both froze.
Dominic's eyes widened.
“I didn't mean—”
I smiled through sudden tears.
“I know.”
But the words stayed with me.
Our son.
Not legally.
Not biologically.
Not yet.
May you like
But love has never been particularly interested in paperwork.
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