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“What?” was her only response.
Matteo licked his dry lips. “I’m sorry,” he said simply. “I wanted to tell you both before. But...it didn’t seem appropriate.”
Vittore was in his face in an instant. “In thirty years—you couldn’t find an appropriate time? We’ve spent our whole lives together, Matt. This was the first time you thought to tell us?” His face was scarlet and his hands were in fists at the sides of his body.
“Of course it wasn’t! But I haven’t known since I was five. I figured it out. Papa would never discuss it. Never. On the few occasions I tried to ask him about it, it was clear I was upsetting him. He always told me to leave it.”
“You found her. You never told us that before.” Brianna’s voice was quiet, but packed with emotion. Vittore turned to their sister, his face wracked with confusion; it was clear he expected her to be angry too.
Matteo sucked in another breath. “Yes.” His voice shook. He couldn’t help it. “I thought she was sleeping.”
Once he’d started telling his brother and sister, things had just spilled out, often in the wrong order. But he couldn’t keep it together any longer. He’d spent the last month practically on Brianna’s shoulder and it was clear she was suspicious of his overly protective behavior. At first, she’d thought he was just a smitten uncle. But after a few weeks, she’d become more in tune to his observations and questions.
Ever since he’d taken that panicked flight home from Rome he’d felt as if he’d been living on a knife edge. Phoebe’s words had constantly echoed in his brain. The last look on her face haunted him.
He tried to persuade himself it was for the best. He’d never be enough for the bright shining star that was Phoebe Gates. Things would cool, fade and be a disappointment for her. Walking away at this point was actually protecting her—saving her from any future pain he might cause.
But the truth was he’d been so focused on his family he hadn’t left any room for her. It was a mistake. A massive mistake. And the only person he’d been trying to protect was himself. Protecting himself from actually sharing the love and emotional commitment that came from being in a loving relationship with someone who could potentially hurt him. Just as his mother had.
He’d felt abandoned by his mother. Let down.
Surely if she’d loved him more she wouldn’t have committed suicide—wouldn’t have left him, Vittore and Brianna?
He’d also felt responsible. If he’d sounded the alarm sooner—maybe something could have been done—maybe his mother’s life could have been saved and he wouldn’t have grown up with his heart locked away. Scared to let anyone hurt it again.
All thoughts and feelings that any psychologist in the world could pick apart and dissect, and reconstruct in a more healthy, rational manner.
But never had it been clear to him until this moment.
He’d spent the last month tiptoeing around Brianna, watching for any sign of postpartum psychosis. Any sign that might alert him, as an adult, to what he’d missed as a child.
But Brianna was just Brianna. Initially elated and overwhelmed with parenthood like any new mom. Then tired, overemotional and occasionally irrational. Entirely just Brianna.
But there was something else too. A side he’d never seen of his sister. He was obviously imagining it, but sometimes he could swear Brianna just seemed to glow. Jay had put the biggest smile on his sister’s face that he’d ever seen. In fact, Jay had put the biggest smile on the whole family’s face. The little guy just had to make one squeak and there were ten adults around the crib, palms itching to pick him up.
Brianna walked across the room and wrapped her arms around her brother. “How long have you felt like this? Have you always felt like this? You thought she was sleeping?” Brianna shook her head as a single tear fell down her cheek. “That’s so much for a kid to shoulder. Didn’t you have anyone to talk to about it?”
Matteo shook his head. Vittore sat down on the chair next to him. “So...how did you find out? You said you figured it out.”
Matteo nodded slowly. “Do you remember Rosa, our housekeeper?”
Both shook their heads.
“Of course you don’t. You were both too young. Never mind. I tracked Rosa down. She could fill in all the details. She told me about the note and what was in it. She told me exactly how Mom had been acting—what she’d been saying. Rosa had been so upset about what happened. It turns out in later life she’d been diagnosed herself with depression. Her own psychiatrist and counsellor told her what Mom’s likely diagnosis was. Thing were different thirty years ago and it wasn’t well recognized or diagnosed. They helped her come to terms with the fact that she hadn’t done anything wrong. And she...helped me understand that my mother had committed suicide out of complete desperation. She didn’t want to harm her baby. She couldn’t stop the way she was feeling, and she couldn’t bear feeling like that. She didn’t feel as if she could be responsible for her own actions.”
