Chapter 8: Anna
Anna stayed.
Not because we asked her to.
Because Sofia needed time.
The first night, she slept in the room above the kitchen.
The second morning, she helped make coffee.
By the third day, Maya had decided she belonged to us.
“Are you staying forever?” Maya asked her.
Anna nearly dropped her cup.
“I don't know.”
“You can.”
“I appreciate the invitation.”
Maya nodded.
“I invite everyone.”
“That explains Marcus.”
Marcus looked offended from across the courtyard.
“I was invited?”
“You are family,” Maya said.
He looked at me.
I shrugged.
“You've been promoted.”
He sighed.
“God help me.”
Anna laughed.
It was the first time I saw her relax.
She was thirty-four.
A translator.
She lived in Florence.
She had come to Rome because her mother had recently died.
Before dying, her mother had given her the photograph.
“She told me to find Sofia,” Anna explained.
“Why?”
“She said Sofia knew the truth.”
Sofia looked down.
“I know many truths.”
“This one is about my grandmother.”
“Yes.”
“And Helen Bennett.”
My body went still.
“My mother said Teresa had a daughter before Mara.”
Julian frowned.
“That isn't possible.”
“It is.”
Anna opened her bag.
Inside were documents.
Birth records.
Old letters.
A hospital bracelet.
A photograph.
And one envelope.
The name on it was Teresa.
I sat down.
“Who was she?”
“Her name was Elena.”
My breath caught.
The premature baby from the hospital had been named Elena.
But this was coincidence.
It had to be.
Different Elena.
Different story.
I reminded myself not everything connected.
Sometimes a name was just a name.
Anna continued.
“Elena was born when Teresa was twenty.”
“Where?”
“Rome.”
“Why was she given away?”
Anna shook her head.
“She wasn't.”
“Then where did she go?”
“She disappeared.”
Julian's expression hardened.
“People don't simply disappear from birth records.”
“They did then.”
Anna looked at Sofia.
“You know what happened.”
Sofia closed her eyes.
“I know what Teresa told me.”
“Tell us.”
Sofia remained silent.
Anna stood.
“You owe me that much.”
The room went quiet.
Finally Sofia spoke.
“Elena was sick.”
“With what?”
“A heart condition.”
Julian looked at me.
The same condition Mara had.
My skin prickled.
“No,” I whispered.
Sofia looked at him.
“Mara inherited it from her father.”
Julian's face changed.
“Her father?”
“Yes.”
“Who was he?”
Sofia shook her head.
“I don't know.”
Anna interrupted.
“My mother did.”
Everyone turned.
“My mother found Elena years later.”
“What happened?”
“She was living under another name.”
“Why?”
“Because Teresa believed someone was looking for her.”
Julian stood.
“Who?”
Anna looked directly at him.
“I don't know.”
There it was again.
A missing piece.
A family history built from gaps.
But this time, I felt something different.
Not excitement.
Fear.
Because mysteries were romantic only until they involved real people.
“Where is Elena now?” I asked.
Anna looked at me.
“She died twelve years ago.”
Silence.
“What about her children?”
“One daughter.”
“Name?”
Anna swallowed.
“Mara.”
Julian sat down hard.
“No.”
Anna nodded.
“Mara Romano.”
His wife.
Leo's mother.
The courtyard disappeared around me.
Julian stared at the table.
“That doesn't make sense.”
Anna placed another document in front of him.
“Mara had a half-sister.”
Julian didn't touch it.
“Who?”
“Me.”
The silence became absolute.
Julian looked at Anna.
Then at Leo.
Then back at her.
“You're saying you are Mara's sister?”
“Half-sister.”
“No.”
“I understand.”
“No, you don't.”
His voice cracked.
“Mara would have told me.”
Anna's eyes filled.
“She didn't know.”
That sentence broke something in him.
I reached for his hand.
He pulled it back.
Not from me.
From everything.
He stood and walked away.
I followed.
Not immediately.
I gave him space.
That evening, I found him beside the river.
Rome glittered across the water.
He was sitting alone.
I sat beside him.
“You don't have to talk.”
“I don't know what to do with this.”
“I know.”
“Mara had a sister.”
“Yes.”
“A sister she didn't know existed.”
“Yes.”
“How many things about her did I not know?”
I didn't answer.
Because there was no number large enough.
He rubbed his face.
“I thought grief was about missing someone.”
“It is.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“It's also realizing there are entire rooms in a person's life you never entered.”
I looked at him.
“That doesn't mean you weren't loved.”
“I know.”
“Does it?”
He looked away.
“I don't know.”
We stayed there.
Then he said:
“I want to know everything.”
“I know.”
“But I'm afraid.”
“Of what?”
“That I'll find something I can't forgive.”
I thought about Mara.
About letters.
About silence.
About all the people who had loved imperfectly.
“Then you'll deal with it when you find it.”
He laughed softly.
“You make everything sound simple.”
“No.”
I looked at him.
“I make it sound survivable.”
He turned toward me.
That was enough.
He took my hand.
We returned to Casa Bellini together.
Anna was waiting.
She had one final document.
“It was in my mother's things.”
Julian opened it.
A medical record.
Mara's blood type.
Her mother's.
And a name.
Not Teresa.
Not Elena.
A man.
Daniel Vale.
Julian stared at it.
“Vale?”
Anna nodded.
“My mother said that was the reason Teresa was afraid.”
I felt cold.
“Who was Daniel Vale?”
Julian didn't answer.
He knew.
I could see it.
“Who?”
He looked at me.
“My uncle.”
I sat down.
Richard's brother.
Mara's father.
And suddenly the entire history rearranged itself.
Mara had not simply inherited a heart condition.
She had inherited a name.
A family.
A secret.
And a father whose existence Julian had never mentioned.
“Where is Daniel now?” I asked.
Julian looked at the document.
“Dead.”
“When?”
“Twenty-seven years ago.”
Anna whispered:
“Then why did my mother say he was still looking for Elena?”
Nobody answered.
Because there was only one conclusion.
May you like
Someone had been searching.
And if Daniel Vale had died twenty-seven years ago, then someone else had continued.
