Chapter 7 - Why Celeste Chose Delia
Celeste came without pearls the second time.
No driver entered with her.
No assistant.
No carefully prepared expression.
She looked older.
Anton had asked her to meet in the library.
Delia almost refused to attend.
Then she remembered her name on an eighteen-month-old investigation request.
She sat beside the window.
Anton remained standing.
Donovan placed the copy on the table.
Celeste looked at it.
Her face collapsed.
“You found that.”
Anton laughed without humor.
“You say that like you hoped I wouldn't.”
Celeste touched the paper.
“I need to explain.”
Delia spoke.
“I'd love that.”
Celeste looked at her.
There was no contempt now.
Only shame.
“Isabella chose several volunteer applicants personally.”
Delia frowned.
“What?”
“She reviewed short essays.”
Anton stared.
“I didn't know that.”
“She didn't tell anyone.”
Celeste continued.
“The hospital sent anonymized applications for the program she funded.”
“Anonymized?”
“First names sometimes remained. Personal statements. Background.”
Delia remembered her application.
One question had asked why she wanted to volunteer.
She had written about loneliness.
About believing frightened babies deserved warmth even when their families couldn't be physically present.
Isabella had read that?
Celeste looked down.
“She liked your essay.”
Delia's throat tightened.
“She selected me?”
“She selected several people.”
“Why investigate me?”
Celeste closed her eyes.
“Because Isabella said something.”
Anton stepped closer.
“What?”
Celeste's voice lowered.
“She said if she ever had children, she wanted people like you around them.”
Delia stared.
“People like me?”
“People who understood ordinary life.”
Anton looked stunned.
Celeste continued.
“She said the Marchetti family was too insulated. Too suspicious. Too obsessed with loyalty.”
“That sounds like Isabella.”
Celeste nodded.
“Vittorio hated hearing it.”
“And you?”
“I was afraid.”
“Of a volunteer?”
“Of losing influence.”
The honesty silenced everyone.
Celeste looked at Anton.
“After your father died, I believed keeping the family close was the same thing as keeping it safe.”
“It wasn't.”
“I know that now.”
Delia asked, “Why Caleb?”
Celeste shook her head.
“I never told anyone to pay him.”
“You requested priority investigation.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because your essay had affected Isabella more than the others.”
Delia's eyes narrowed.
“You decided that made me dangerous.”
Celeste whispered, “I decided it made you important.”
“And therefore dangerous.”
“Yes.”
Anton turned away.
He looked genuinely sick.
Celeste continued.
“I asked Vittorio to learn whether you were stable.”
Delia laughed.
“Stable.”
“I was wrong.”
“You invaded my life.”
“Yes.”
“You investigated my boyfriend.”
“Yes.”
“And then your brother-in-law paid him to disappear.”
“I didn't know that.”
Anton turned back.
“You expect us to believe you?”
“I swear.”
“What else didn't you know?”
Celeste started crying.
Not dramatically.
Quiet tears.
Anton remained unmoved.
Delia was surprised to find herself less angry than she expected.
Not forgiving.
Just clear.
“Did Isabella know you investigated applicants?”
“No.”
“Would she have approved?”
“No.”
“At least we agree.”
Celeste nodded.
Anton asked, “After the accident, when you saw Delia's name in the hospital file, you recognized it.”
“Yes.”
“And you blocked her.”
“Yes.”
“Because you still thought Isabella's interest in her threatened you.”
Celeste looked toward Delia.
“Partly.”
“What was the other part?”
“I was ashamed.”
Delia frowned.
“Of what?”
“That I had investigated her before.”
The room went quiet.
“If Delia entered the house,” Celeste continued, “she might learn about the background check. Isabella's charitable files could surface.”
“So you erased her.”
Celeste flinched.
“Yes.”
Delia stood.
For eighteen months she had blamed herself for Caleb leaving.
For being too much.
Too needy.
Too hopeful.
Then she blamed herself for the miscarriage.
Not logically.
Grief was rarely logical.
Now she discovered rich strangers had inspected her life like a résumé before she even knew they existed.
She walked toward the window.
“I need everyone to understand something.”
Nobody interrupted.
“I am not special because Isabella liked an essay I wrote.”
Celeste lowered her eyes.
“I am not some secret chosen mother for those children.”
Anton watched her.
“I volunteered.”
Her voice trembled.
“I held babies because I had love left over and nowhere to put it.”
She wiped her cheek angrily.
“That's all.”
Anton stepped toward her.
“That is not small.”
“I didn't say it was.”
She faced Celeste.
“But you don't get to rewrite it into destiny so your choices make sense.”
Celeste nodded.
“You're right.”
Delia looked at Anton.
“And you don't get to decide I'm supposed to stay because they recognize me.”
He held her gaze.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
She believed him.
Mostly.
A baby's cry came from upstairs.
Delia's body reacted instantly.
She stopped herself.
Anton noticed.
“You can go.”
“It's your house.”
“You know what I mean.”
Delia hesitated.
Then went upstairs.
Matteo was crying.
Erin stood beside the crib.
“I've tried everything.”
Delia picked him up carefully.
He pressed his face against her chest.
“Dee.”
“I know.”
His fingers gripped her blouse.
She hummed.
His breathing slowed.
For the first time Delia allowed herself to feel what she had been avoiding.
She loved him.
Not because he was hers.
He wasn't.
Not because she wanted to replace Isabella.
She didn't.
She loved him because once, under fluorescent lights, she had held him when he weighed almost nothing.
And somehow his body remembered safety before his mind had words for it.
Anton appeared in the doorway.
“He remembers you.”
“Maybe.”
“You remember him.”
Delia looked down.
“Yes.”
“Does that scare you?”
“Yes.”
“Me too.”
That answer made her look at him.
Anton entered.
“Can I?”
Delia handed him Matteo.
The baby fussed.
Delia hummed.
Anton tried humming too.
It was terrible.
Matteo stared at him.
Delia laughed.
Anton stopped.
“What?”
“You're awful.”
“I am not.”
“You sound like a refrigerator.”
Matteo made a small sound.
Anton tried again.
Worse.
Delia laughed harder.
Matteo smiled.
Then Anton smiled.
It changed him.
Delia had seen handsome men before.
Anton smiling at his son was something else entirely.
Downstairs, Donovan's voice interrupted.
“Anton.”
Anton handed Matteo back.
“What is it?”
Donovan stood at the bottom of the stairs holding his phone.
“We found Raymond Vale's complete archive.”
Anton descended.
Delia followed carrying Matteo.
Donovan looked uncomfortable.
“There's correspondence between Raymond and Vittorio about Delia.”
“How much?”
“Years.”
Delia stopped.
“Years?”
“Three.”
“That makes no sense.”
Donovan opened one message.
The date was three years earlier.
Long before Delia's pregnancy.
Long before Isabella's accident.
Long before she applied to volunteer.
Yet the email contained Delia's full name.
Anton read it.
His face went blank.
Celeste, still in the library doorway, whispered:
“That isn't possible.”
Donovan looked at her.
“Apparently it is.”
Attached to the email was a photograph.
Delia.
Three years younger.
Standing outside a small community clinic.
Beside a woman whose face had been caught in profile.
Anton stared at the second woman.
His hands began trembling.
Delia looked closer.
“Who is she?”
Anton could barely answer.
May you like
“Isabella.”
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