Chapter 11 - The Secrets In The Leather Coat
The basement walls seemed to close in on me.
I gripped the edge of the metal table, gasping for air.
“That’s impossible,” I stammered, frantically scanning the document again. “There must be a mistake. A typo in the coroner’s report.”
Luca quickly picked up the file, his eyes scanning the medical jargon. “The Moretti family pays top dollar for discrete, private medical examiners. They don't make typos on blood types, Ellen. This report is accurate.”
Matthew looked like he was going to be sick. “Mom… did you…” He couldn't even finish the question.
“No!” I cried, looking at my son with desperate honesty. “Matthew, I swear on my life. I never, ever was with another man. David was my only husband. He was the only man I ever loved.”
Matthew dragged a hand through his hair, his breathing erratic. “Then how? How am I not his son? Was I adopted? Did you and Dad adopt me and never tell me?”
“You were born at St. Jude’s Hospital,” I said, my mind racing through memories of my agonizing labor thirty-three years ago. “David was holding my hand the entire time. I saw the nurses clean you and put you in my arms. You are my flesh and blood, Matthew.”
Luca slammed the folder shut, his mind calculating rapidly.
“If Ellen is your biological mother, and David is not your biological father, but Ellen never strayed… there is only one explanation,” Luca said grimly.
We both looked at him.
“In vitro fertilization? A sperm donor?” Luca suggested.
I shook my head violently. “No. We never struggled with fertility. We got pregnant naturally.”
“Then,” Luca said softly, “the hospital made a catastrophic mistake. Or… someone intervened.”
“Who would intervene with a gardener’s child?” Matthew asked, his voice cracking. “We weren't rich. We weren't important.”
Teresa’s voice floated into the room. She had followed us downstairs, leaning heavily on the doorframe.
“David wasn't just a gardener, Matthew,” she said, her voice filled with a profound sorrow. “He was a protector.”
We all turned to her.
“Mom,” Luca said, stepping toward her. “What else are you hiding? Who is Matthew’s father?”
Teresa didn't answer him directly. Instead, she pointed to a large, dusty cedar chest in the corner of the archive room.
“Luca, open that trunk,” she instructed.
Luca walked over and popped the brass latches. He threw open the lid. Inside, folded neatly, was an old, heavy leather coat.
“This was David’s,” I whispered. “He wore it every winter.”
“Take it out, Luca,” Teresa said. “Feel the lining inside the left pocket.”
Luca pulled the heavy coat from the chest. He reached into the left pocket, his fingers probing the seams. Suddenly, he heard the faint sound of paper crinkling. He pulled out a pocketknife and carefully slit the lining.
He reached inside and pulled out a small, sealed envelope.
It had my name written on it in David’s handwriting. For Ellen.
My hands shook so violently I could barely hold the envelope when Luca handed it to me.
I tore it open. Inside was a single, handwritten letter.
My dearest Ellen,If you are reading this, it means I am gone, and you have finally found the truth. I am so sorry I couldn't tell you while I was alive. I wanted to protect you from the burden.Thirty-three years ago, when we went to St. Jude’s for Matthew’s birth, the Rossi family had already begun plotting against the Morettis. The head of the Rossi family, Don Carlo, had a pregnant mistress. She went into labor the same night you did.
I stopped reading, a wave of nausea washing over me.
Don Carlo’s wife found out about the mistress, the letter continued. She ordered her men to the hospital to murder the newborn boy, to ensure there would be no illegitimate heir to challenge her own sons.I was in the hallway getting ice when I heard the Rossi men talking to a corrupt nurse. They were planning to take the baby from the nursery and kill him.Ellen, I couldn't let an innocent child die. But I couldn't stop armed men alone. So, I paid a nurse I trusted. I gave her our life savings.I had her swap the babies in the nursery.
May you like
Matthew let out a choked sob, falling back against a filing cabinet.
The baby the Rossi men took away that night… was our biological son. He had already passed away, Ellen. He was born with a severe heart defect, and he passed away in the incubator twenty minutes before I made the swap. I couldn't bear to tell you our son had died. And I couldn't let this healthy, beautiful boy be murdered by monsters.So I brought him to you. I named him Matthew. And I loved him as my own blood.
