Chapter 4 - Not Her
Celeste Marchetti arrived at Anton's house the following morning wearing pearls.
That was what Delia noticed first.
Pearls.
Not the black sedan outside.
Not the driver.
Not the expensive cream suit.
Pearls.
They made Celeste look elegant and harmless.
Delia had learned long ago that appearance and kindness were unrelated.
Anton stood beside the fireplace when his mother entered.
“Anton.”
“Mother.”
Celeste looked at Delia.
Everything about her changed.
Only slightly.
A pause.
A tightening around the mouth.
But Delia saw it.
Recognition.
Celeste whispered, “Not her.”
Anton heard.
“So you do know her.”
Celeste recovered immediately.
“I know who she is.”
“You've never met me,” Delia said.
“No.”
“Then that's interesting.”
Anton gestured toward the sitting room.
“Sit.”
Celeste remained standing.
“Why is she here?”
“Her name is Delia.”
“I know her name.”
“Clearly.”
Celeste's gaze moved toward the nursery hallway.
“Where are the children?”
“With Erin.”
“I came to see them.”
“You came because I asked you a question last night and you refused to answer.”
Celeste sighed.
“Anton, not everything needs to become a trial.”
“Someone forged my authority at Ochsner.”
For the first time, genuine alarm crossed her face.
“What?”
“Vittorio.”
Celeste looked away.
Anton stepped closer.
“You knew.”
“I knew he handled paperwork.”
“He made decisions about my children.”
“You were grieving.”
“They were my children while I was grieving.”
“You could barely stand.”
“I still had a right to know.”
Celeste finally sat.
Delia stayed near the doorway.
She didn't want to be part of this family confrontation.
Unfortunately, she already was.
Celeste looked toward her.
“You need to understand something, Miss Marsh.”
“I'm listening.”
“The babies had lost their mother. Anton had lost his wife. The household needed stability.”
“And I threatened that?”
“You were a stranger.”
“A volunteer.”
“A stranger.”
Delia nodded.
“Those aren't mutually exclusive.”
Celeste's voice became cooler.
“The hospital proposed bringing you into the home several times a week.”
“For a transition period.”
“You weren't family.”
Anton interrupted.
“Neither were eleven nannies.”
Celeste flinched.
“You're blaming me for that?”
“You blocked the one person the children already trusted.”
“You didn't know her.”
“Neither did you.”
Celeste stood.
“I was protecting you.”
Anton laughed once.
No humor.
“From what?”
Celeste looked at Delia.
“From dependency.”
Delia's cheeks warmed.
“Mine?”
“The children's.”
Celeste turned back to Anton.
“They had already experienced trauma. What happened when the volunteer left? What happened when she returned to her life?”
Delia answered before Anton could.
“That's why transition plans exist.”
Celeste looked surprised.
Delia continued.
“I wasn't supposed to become their mother.”
The word caught in her throat.
“I was supposed to be familiar while they learned home was safe.”
Celeste said nothing.
Delia stepped closer.
“You didn't protect them from dependency. You removed a bridge because you didn't like what the bridge looked like.”
Celeste's eyes narrowed.
“That is unfair.”
“Is it?”
“You think this was about your appearance?”
Delia held her gaze.
“Wasn't it?”
Silence.
That was answer enough.
Anton looked at his mother as though he had never seen her clearly before.
Celeste said quickly, “Your family lives under scrutiny.”
“My children were premature infants.”
“And eventually they would grow.”
Anton stared.
“Say what you mean.”
Celeste hesitated.
Delia knew before she said it.
“You were a diner waitress.”
Delia almost smiled.
“There it is.”
“I am not insulting honest work.”
“You're doing an excellent impression.”
“I am saying the Marchetti household has security requirements, privacy requirements—”
“Stop.”
Anton rarely raised his voice.
This time he did.
From down the hallway came a startled cry.
Lucia.
Delia turned instinctively.
Anton closed his eyes.
“I'll get her,” Erin called.
But Lucia cried louder.
Then Matteo joined.
Then Nico.
Celeste looked exhausted.
“They do this constantly.”
Delia started humming.
She barely realized it.
Silence fell down the hallway.
Celeste's face lost color.
Anton stared at her.
“You knew.”
Celeste whispered, “I knew they responded to someone at the hospital.”
“You knew it was Delia.”
“Yes.”
“And you said nothing.”
“I thought they would forget.”
Delia felt the words like a slap.
Children would forget.
That had been the plan.
Not healing.
Erasure.
Anton walked to the nursery.
A minute later he returned carrying Lucia.
The little girl immediately leaned toward Delia.
“Mama.”
Celeste's eyes widened.
Anton said nothing.
Delia touched Lucia's cheek.
“Delia.”
The baby watched her.
“Dee.”
Lucia blinked.
“Dee?”
“That's me.”
“Mama Dee.”
Delia froze.
Anton did too.
Celeste sat slowly.
For once, nobody knew what to say.
Finally Anton asked his mother, “Did Vittorio tell you to block Delia?”
Celeste's eyes lowered.
“He said it was best.”
“Why?”
“Because he believed children should attach to family first.”
“That's nonsense.”
“At the time, I agreed.”
“What else did he do?”
“I don't know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
Celeste looked hurt.
“I made a mistake.”
“A mistake is forgetting an appointment.”
His voice dropped.
“You helped someone impersonate my authority.”
“I never signed your name.”
“But you knew.”
“Yes.”
The word was barely audible.
Anton handed Lucia to Delia.
The baby settled immediately against her chest.
Delia's breath caught.
This was the first time she had held one of them since the NICU.
Lucia smelled like baby shampoo.
Her tiny head fit beneath Delia's chin as if no time had passed.
Anton looked at his mother.
“Leave.”
Celeste stood.
“Anton.”
“Not today.”
“Please.”
“Leave.”
She walked toward the door.
Then stopped beside Delia.
For a moment Delia expected contempt.
Instead Celeste looked at Lucia.
Her voice cracked.
“I loved Isabella.”
Delia softened slightly.
“I believe you.”
“I thought I was keeping what remained of her safe.”
Delia looked at the baby.
“Love can still do damage when fear makes the decisions.”
Celeste closed her eyes.
Then left.
Anton didn't move for several seconds.
Delia held Lucia.
The room felt too quiet.
Finally Anton said, “I'm sorry.”
“You didn't do it.”
“I let them manage everything.”
“You were grieving.”
“That doesn't make it okay.”
“No.”
He looked surprised by her agreement.
Delia continued.
“But beating yourself up doesn't fix anything either.”
Anton nodded.
Donovan entered holding a tablet.
“Sorry.”
Anton turned.
“What now?”
“I spoke with the hospital's former compliance officer.”
“And?”
“He remembers the Marchetti discharge case.”
Anton stiffened.
“Why?”
“Because someone requested that several records be manually altered after the babies left.”
Delia's stomach sank.
“Altered how?”
“Volunteer references removed. Continuity notes deleted.”
Anton stared at him.
“Who requested it?”
Donovan looked grim.
“Vittorio.”
Anton nodded slowly.
“At least he's consistent.”
“That's not the worst part.”
Delia sighed.
“People need to stop saying that.”
Donovan glanced at her.
“Sorry.”
“What is it?”
“He didn't make the request alone.”
Anton looked toward the door his mother had just used.
“My mother?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Donovan swiped the tablet.
“A hospital administrator named Elias Voss.”
Anton frowned.
“I don't know him.”
“You should.”
“Why?”
Donovan turned the screen around.
A corporate biography appeared.
Before joining Ochsner administration, Elias Voss had spent twelve years working for a private healthcare investment group.
The name of the group sat at the bottom.
Marchetti Holdings.
Delia looked at Anton.
Anton looked at Donovan.
Then Donovan delivered the final detail.
“Voss wasn't just an employee.”
He enlarged an old photograph.
Elias Voss standing beside Vittorio.
Beside Celeste.
Beside Anton's late father.
“He was part of your family's inner circle for twenty years.”
And according to hospital access logs, Elias Voss had opened the triplets' medical files again.
Three days ago.
May you like
The same day they met Delia.
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