Chapter 4 - The Woman Vincent Couldn’t Forget
I laughed.
It wasn't because anything was funny.
Sometimes the mind chooses laughter when screaming would be inconvenient.
“No.”
Vincent said nothing.
“No,” I repeated. “My parents were Daniel and Laura Hayes.”
Renzo quietly turned another page in Isabella’s diary.
“Elena—”
“No.”
Mia was sitting on the floor nearby, arranging blocks by color.
I lowered my voice.
“I have a birth certificate.”
“Birth certificates can be changed,” Renzo said.
I glared at him.
“Helpful.”
He closed his mouth.
Vincent remained unnervingly calm.
“There's one way to know.”
I knew what he meant.
DNA.
Two days later, we had the answer.
Vincent was my biological uncle.
The probability of our biological relationship exceeded 99 percent.
I read the report in his study.
Then I read it again.
And again.
My entire identity had been rewritten by three pages of laboratory results.
Isabella Castalano was my mother.
Laura Hayes had raised me.
Daniel Hayes had raised me.
Neither had ever told me the truth.
Vincent stood by the window.
“So Isabella didn't die alone,” I whispered.
“No.”
“She had me.”
“Yes.”
“Who was my father?”
“We don't know.”
I stared at him.
“Another mystery?”
“I'm afraid so.”
I wanted to be angry with Vincent.
Instead, looking at him hurt.
Because suddenly I saw similarities.
The dark eyes.
The stubborn chin.
The way Mia lifted one eyebrow.
Castalano.
My daughter was a Castalano.
I sat down.
“Why would Laura raise me?”
Vincent opened Isabella’s diary.
The answer emerged slowly.
Isabella had discovered that Carlo Castalano was stealing millions through companies controlled by Vincent’s father.
When Isabella threatened to expose him, Carlo arranged what authorities believed was an automobile accident.
But Isabella had anticipated danger.
She entrusted her newborn daughter to Laura and Daniel.
They disappeared.
Laura spent six years hiding me.
Then she learned Carlo had found them.
She contacted Vincent.
And vanished before reaching him.
“Daniel took me to Ohio after that,” I whispered.
“He was protecting you,” Vincent said.
“By telling me my mother abandoned me?”
“Maybe he believed a painful lie was safer than a dangerous truth.”
I hated that the explanation made sense.
“What happened to Laura?”
“We still don't know.”
That evening, I packed.
Vincent appeared in the guest-room doorway.
“What are you doing?”
“Going home.”
“Why?”
“Because three days ago I was your employee. Now apparently I'm your niece.”
“You're still Elena.”
“Am I?”
His expression softened.
“Yes.”
I looked at him.
For the first time, Vincent didn't seem intimidating.
He seemed lonely.
“You knew Isabella for seventeen years,” I said. “I knew her for three pages.”
He swallowed.
“I can tell you about her.”
“Not tonight.”
He nodded.
I zipped my suitcase.
Then he said, “She would've loved Mia.”
I stopped.
Vincent looked toward the hallway where Mia was singing to herself.
“Isabella would've spoiled her terribly.”
A tear escaped before I could stop it.
I wiped it away angrily.
Vincent looked away, giving me privacy without leaving.
“Tell me one thing.”
“Anything.”
“What was she like?”
A faint smile appeared.
“Impossible.”
I laughed through my tears.
“Mia comes by it honestly, then.”
“Yes.”
I didn't leave.
Not that night.
The next week changed the estate.
Mia essentially conquered it.
She ate breakfast with Vincent.
She invaded his study.
She placed stickers on one of Renzo’s folders.
Renzo acted horrified but never removed them.
Vincent taught her chess badly because Mia refused to follow the rules.
She taught him tea parties.
Watching Vincent Castalano hold a miniature pink cup while Mia explained proper etiquette became my favorite private entertainment.
“Pinkies out,” she ordered.
“I don't take instructions.”
“You do at tea.”
Vincent looked at me.
“Your child is a dictator.”
“Runs in the family.”
His eyes narrowed.
I smiled.
Something else changed too.
Vincent and I stopped behaving like employer and employee.
We became family cautiously.
Awkwardly.
He told me stories about Isabella.
How she had once put frogs in his bed.
How she taught him to drive.
How she secretly bought him his first guitar because their father considered music useless.
And I told him about my childhood.
About Laura.
About Daniel.
About Mia’s father, who had disappeared before Mia was born when responsibility became inconvenient.
Vincent's expression darkened at that story.
“Don't.”
“Don't what?”
“Make that face.”
“What face?”
“The one Mia copies.”
He almost smiled.
Then everything changed again.
Renzo entered.
“We found Laura.”
I stood so quickly my chair fell backward.
“What?”
“Maybe.”
He placed a photograph on the table.
A woman leaving a grocery store in Vermont.
Older.
Gray threaded through dark hair.
But I knew her.
Even after twenty years.
Even after thousands of nights wondering whether she was alive.
“Mom.”
My voice broke.
Vincent stared at the photograph.
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“Address?”
“We have it.”
I was already grabbing my coat.
Vincent stopped me.
“Elena.”
“Don't.”
“We need to be careful.”
“That woman raised me.”
“And if somebody deliberately led us to her?”
I hated him for being reasonable.
We drove to Vermont the next morning.
Vincent insisted on coming.
Mia stayed with Mrs. Bell.
The house was small.
White siding.
Blue shutters.
A garden filled with lavender.
I stood at the gate for almost a minute before walking to the door.
I knocked.
Footsteps approached.
The door opened.
A woman stared at me.
Her hand flew to her mouth.
“Elena?”
Twenty years disappeared.
“Mom?”
She began crying.
So did I.
She pulled me into her arms.
I became six years old again.
I couldn't speak.
Neither could she.
Behind me, Vincent stood completely still.
Laura eventually looked past my shoulder.
Her face changed.
“Vincent.”
“Laura.”
She invited us inside.
For an hour, I demanded answers.
Laura gave them.
She had disappeared because Carlo found her.
Daniel took me west.
Laura deliberately separated from us to draw Carlo away.
She expected to reunite with us within months.
Then Carlo threatened Daniel.
If Laura contacted us, Elena would die.
“So you stayed away for twenty years?”
“I watched you from a distance.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“Birthdays. Graduation. Your wedding.”
“My wedding?”
She smiled sadly.
“And when Mia was born.”
Anger collided with grief.
“You knew my daughter?”
“I knew of her.”
“You could've called.”
“I was afraid.”
“Dad died believing you were gone.”
Her face crumpled.
“I know.”
I walked outside before I said something unforgivable.
Vincent followed but kept his distance.
After several minutes, I asked, “How do you forgive twenty years?”
“You don't have to do it today.”
I looked at him.
“What would Isabella do?”
His mouth curved faintly.
“She'd yell for an hour, throw something inexpensive, then demand dinner.”
I laughed.
And for the first time, I understood why Mia trusted him.
Behind the frightening expression was a man who knew what it meant to lose people.
When we returned inside, Laura was holding something.
A sealed envelope.
“I kept this because Isabella made me promise.”
She handed it to Vincent.
On the front was written:
For Vincent, when Elena is safe.
He opened it.
Inside was a single page.
Vincent read it.
His expression changed.
“What?” I asked.
He handed it to me.
The final lines were enough.
Carlo didn't act alone. Someone inside our house helped him. If Vincent ever finds this, tell him to look at the man he trusts most.
I looked up.
Vincent had already turned toward Renzo.
May you like
And Renzo was no longer in the room.
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