The Woman Nobody Listened To

The letter arrived four days later.

Not to Luca's personal address.

To his attorney, a woman named Cecilia Ferrante who had represented the Moretti family since before Luca's father passed.

Cecilia called the house at two in the afternoon, and I knew from the way Rosa's face changed when she took the message that it was not good news.

Luca was in a meeting.

He came out of the study forty minutes later, read something on his phone, and went back in.

He didn't come out again until evening.

I was finishing Teresa's speech exercises at the sitting room table when he appeared in the doorway.

Teresa had made real progress in the past four days — longer sentences, less hesitation, a confidence that had not been there when Vanessa was in the house.

It was as if the air itself had changed.

"Ricci filed a paternity petition," Luca said.

Teresa's hand went still.

"He's claiming Sophie is his biological child.

He has a DNA test — privately commissioned — that he says supports it.

His attorneys are seeking immediate visitation rights pending a court-ordered test." He leaned against the doorframe.

"His lawyers also submitted a complaint to the county family services office alleging that I was made aware of the claim and chose to suppress it."

"That's not true," I said.

"No.

But it buys him time and it creates a record." He looked at Teresa.

"Mom, is there anything you remember from those phone calls — anything at all about what Ricci told Vanessa he had?"

Teresa thought carefully.

"He said he had proof," she said.

"He said the proof was from before."

"Before what?"

"Before Sophie."

Luca was quiet.

"Sophie's mother," I said carefully.

"Was she—"

"She died," Luca said.

"When Sophie was two.

A car accident." He paused.

"Her name was Giulia.

Giulia Conti.

She and Ricci were from the same town originally.

I didn't know they'd had any contact after she and I were together."

The room was very still.

"If they were in contact," I said, "Vanessa would have known that too.

From the messages."

"Yes.

Cecilia is pulling everything now."

"What does Sophie know about her mother?"

"That she loved her very much and that she's in a place where she can't come back from." He pushed off the doorframe.

"She's eight.

We've kept it simple."

He crossed to the window.

The garden outside was gray with late November light, the hedges trimmed, everything where it should be except the people.

"I won't let her go to him," he said.

It was quiet and total, the way he said things when he meant them all the way down.

"Then don't," Teresa said.

He turned and looked at his mother.

She was sitting very straight in her wheelchair, both hands on the armrests, and her eyes were the exact shade and expression of someone who has waited long enough and is now entirely done waiting.

"What did Giulia tell you?" Luca asked.

"Before she passed.

About Ricci."

Teresa folded her hands.

"She told me once," she said.

"After Sophie was born.

She said a man from her town had been very cruel to her when she was young.

She said she had left and she had never told anyone who she left because of." She looked at her son.

"She said she told me because she wanted someone to know.

In case."

"In case of what?"

"In case he found her."