Chapter 16 - When My Mother Finally Came Home
Marisol returned home on a Sunday.
Not to the coastal cottage.
To the city.
She rented a small apartment ten minutes from mine.
I helped unpack.
At the bottom of one box, we found two tiny dresses.
Matching yellow dresses.
“Elena's and mine?”
Marisol nodded.
“You refused to wear yours.”
“Why?”
“You said yellow made you look like mustard.”
I laughed.
“At three?”
“You were difficult early.”
Dominic, carrying a box behind us, said, “Nothing changed.”
I threw a pillow at him.
Marisol laughed.
It was the first time I heard her laugh without sadness.
That sound healed something.
Life became ordinary.
Beautifully ordinary.
Dominic completed the restructuring of his businesses.
He sold several companies.
Closed others.
Established a foundation in Elena's name supporting children separated from families through unsafe or illegal circumstances.
He wanted to name it after me too.
I refused.
“One dramatic dead sister is enough branding.”
He looked horrified.
Marisol laughed for five minutes.
Marco's trial began.
We testified.
So did Thomas.
Rafael.
Catherine.
Daniel.
The process was exhausting.
But we told the truth.
No threats.
No revenge.
Just truth.
Marco was convicted on multiple charges connected to financial crimes, obstruction, kidnapping conspiracy, and Elena's death.
When the verdict was read, I felt less satisfaction than I expected.
Mostly I felt tired.
Dominic squeezed my hand.
Outside the courthouse, reporters shouted questions.
We said nothing.
At home, Leo ran toward us.
He had learned to walk.
Poorly.
He crashed into Dominic's legs.
“Da!”
Dominic lifted him.
Leo pointed at me.
“El!”
I kissed his cheek.
“Hello, tiny dictator.”
Marisol watched from the doorway.
Her eyes filled.
“What?”
“You two.”
“What about us?”
“She would have loved this.”
I knew who she meant.
Elena.
I smiled.
“I think she planned half of it.”
Dominic groaned.
“Don't encourage her ghost.”
That Christmas, we celebrated together.
Sofia.
Rafael.
Marisol.
Catherine even visited.
Victor brought dessert from Orelio.
Thomas sent flowers.
The table was too crowded.
Too loud.
Leo threw mashed potatoes.
It was perfect.
After dinner, Marisol gave me a gift.
A restored photograph.
Elena and me at three years old.
Holding hands.
On the back she had written:
My daughters. Together again in every way that matters.
I cried.
Then Dominic handed me another box.
“What's this?”
“Open it.”
Inside was a key.
I stared.
“No.”
He frowned.
“You don't even know what it is.”
“House key.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Elina.”
“We discussed this.”
“We did.”
“I am not moving into your giant mansion because you hate my locks.”
“It isn't for the mansion.”
I paused.
“What?”
He showed me photographs.
A smaller house.
Warm.
Beautiful.
Near Marisol's new apartment.
A yard for Leo.
A kitchen that looked designed for people who couldn't cook.
“What is this?”
“I bought it.”
“For who?”
“For me.”
I frowned.
“You're leaving the estate?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He looked around the huge Moretti dining room.
“Because this place belongs to the life I'm trying to leave.”
My chest tightened.
“And the key?”
“The guest key.”
I stared at him.
“Guest?”
“I'm learning boundaries.”
Sofia called from across the room.
“Therapy works!”
Dominic ignored her.
“You can visit whenever you want.”
I took the key.
“Good.”
He smiled.
“Good?”
“Yes.”
“That's all?”
I kissed him.
Sofia cheered.
I pulled away.
“Happy?”
Dominic looked toward his sister.
“No.”
Everyone laughed.
Three months later, I moved in.
Not because he asked again.
Because I wanted to.
There was one condition.
My own room.
Dominic looked confused.
“You want a separate bedroom?”
“I want a writing room.”
“You don't write.”
“I might.”
“You've never mentioned writing.”
“I need somewhere you can't reorganize my things.”
“I don't reorganize.”
“You alphabetized my spices.”
“That was necessary.”
We compromised.
I got the room.
He got permission to alphabetize one shelf.
Love, I learned, was mostly negotiation.
And laughter.
May you like
And choosing to stay.
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