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"Sometimes, when I look at you, it's like I'm seeing her all over again," he said, his fingers grazing my cheek. "You have her eyes. Same warmth. Same fire."
I shrank back slightly, heart racing. What was he trying to say? My mind raced with questions, but I couldn't bring myself to voice any of them. Instead, I simply nodded, struggling to maintain my composure.
"Please don't misunderstand me," Lorenzo continued, his voice laced with a hint of desperation. "I only mean to say that you remind me of her in the best possible way. I loved your mother dearly, and I see so much of her spirit in you."
The words hung in the air between us, heavy with meaning. I felt my cheeks sear under his gaze, and I glanced away, unsure of how to respond. The truth was that I didn't really know what to believe. On one hand, Lorenzo had always been a loving and caring father figure. On the other hand, his actions were sometimes...confusing. I couldn't deny that he seemed to have an almost possessive interest in me, and his gifts and compliments often felt like they had a deeper purpose than simply showing affection.
I looked up at Lorenzo again, my eyes searching his. His expression was unreadable, but there was an intensity in his gaze that made me feel like I was being pulled into a dark abyss. I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry. My heart was pounding, and a knot of anxiety twisted in my stomach.
"Thank you," I whispered again. "For the necklace. It means a lot to me."
"Emilia, are you feeling all right?" Lorenzo asked as he noticed my clenched jaw and tense posture. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to relax.
"Of course," I replied with a strained smile. "I’m just a little tired, that's all."
He appeared satisfied. "Go get some rest, then. You and Sofia were going at it pretty hard on the tennis court."
Lorenzo carefully kept his eyes on mine, seemingly heedless of my short skirt and tight shirt, but I felt the weight of his gaze as I left the office.
eleven
Emilia
Nostalgia kept its holdon me after the conversation with Lorenzo, so two days later, I was up in the attic going through my mother's old things. I'd already gone through most of them, but there were still a few boxes I hadn't touched yet. It was a bittersweet experience, filled with memories both good and bad, and I couldn't help but get a little teary-eyed as I sorted through the remnants of my mother's life.
They felt well-handled, like someone had taken them out recently. Her clothes were still fresh and unfaded, even though she'd been dead for over fifteen years. Photo albums had fresh tape over the frayed bindings.
There was something strange about it. Lorenzo had given me the necklace a few days ago, so it was possible he was the one who had gone through the boxes. But why? Why now, and why not before? And if he had gone through them, what else did he take? What else had he been looking for?
Curiously, not many of my father's things were left. Just an old suitcase in the corner, the hardbacked kind that looked like an overgrown suitcase from the seventies. It was shoved in the corner under the eaves.
I knelt next to it, brushing off the thick layer of dust that covered the battered surface. I tugged on the clasp, and to my surprise, it opened easily. Inside lay a small stack of yellowing papers held together by a fraying ribbon.
I pulled it out, curious, and carefully untied the ribbon. The pages were brittle and cracked at the edges, as if they had been lovingly folded and unfolded many times.
As if I wouldn't recognize the handwriting, the signature down at the bottom was unmistakable. Lorenzo Moretti.
Every single one was addressed to my mother.
I shook my head and blinked back tears, my heart pounding in my chest. My hands trembled as I tried to make sense of what I was reading. Word after word of plaintive declarations of love and luridly sexual descriptions of their trysts together. My stomach lurched, and bile rose in the back of my throat. What was this? Some kind of sick joke?
I continued to page through the bundle of letters. There were photographs, now, that left precious little to the imagination. My hands shook. Something was building in the air around me, cracking and fizzling. A watershed moment, one that would rent my life in two.
It came with the final letter in the stack. A letter addressed to me.
My darling Emilia,
It's been so, so long, but if you're reading this, now, you are ready to know the truth. You've already seen the evidence of my shame, my betrayal to your father. I know--I wrapped the evidence myself and hid it in your father's suitcase whereLorenzo will never find it. I can only hope he won't throw it out in his rage.
These are my final words, my final confession. You are the only one who will ever read them, because there is no one else who will care to hear them.
Your father loved me. He was a good man, a good husband and a good father. I was the one who betrayed him. I was the one who chose to be with Lorenzo, to let him have me and take me away from the life I had with your father. I thought I was in love, but I was wrong.
Lorenzo killed your father.
I was too afraid to speak up, to admit the truth, but now that I'm gone, you must know the truth. You must know what kind of man Lorenzo really is, the monster he keeps hidden behind that charming smile. You must promise me that you will stay away from him, that you will protect yourself and keep yourself safe. I am so sorry for what I have done, for the life that has been taken from you because of my weakness, but I am powerless to change it now.
All I can do is pray that you will find it in your heart to forgive me one day, and that you will not make the same mistakes that I did.
