Chapter 6 - THE ROOM SHE HAD LOST
“By the time Vanessa gave me the paper, I wasn't sure I deserved to come back.”
Luca held his mother's handwritten request.
He looked at the date.
October twenty-ninth.
Only a few days earlier.
“Mom, why didn't you tell me you were feeling this way?”
Teresa wiped her eyes.
“Because I thought you'd be relieved.”
He shook his head.
“Relieved?”
“You wouldn't have to feel responsible for me anymore.”
“Mom, I'm your son.”
“I know.”
She looked at the suitcase beside her chair.
“But Vanessa kept saying you needed freedom.”
I saw Luca's face tighten.
“She said a mother should know when to stop holding on,” Teresa continued.
Then she looked directly at him.
“And after a while, I started thinking perhaps she was right.”
Luca carefully laid down the paper.
“Mom, caring about you isn't something I need freedom from.”
Teresa gave him a sad smile.
“You say that now.”
He flinched.
She saw it.
“Oh, sweetheart. I didn't mean—”
“No,” he interrupted gently. “You're allowed to doubt me. I haven't given you much reason to feel secure lately.”
I had never heard him speak that way.
There was no anger left in his voice.
Only regret.
Mrs. Carter offered Teresa another glass of water.
Then she looked at the handwritten request.
“Mrs. Moretti, do you understand that you can change your mind?”
Teresa hesitated.
“Vanessa said the room was already paid for.”
“Payment doesn't mean you lose the right to decide where you live,” Mrs. Carter replied.
Teresa looked toward Luca.
“But what if I become more dependent later?”
“Then we'll discuss what help you want,” he answered.
She nodded.
But I could tell something still troubled her.
I moved the suitcase closer.
“Mrs. Moretti, may I unpack this for you?”
She stared at it.
“Would that be all right?”
“Of course.”
Her voice trembled.
“I thought I wasn't allowed to change my mind.”
I knelt beside the suitcase.
The lock was stiff.
When it finally opened, I found everything folded with the care of someone preparing for a very long journey.
Four nightgowns.
Her favorite slippers.
A blue sweater.
A small sewing kit.
And a gray wool coat that had belonged to Antonio.
I lifted it gently.
“Mrs. Moretti, you packed Mr. Moretti's coat?”
She nodded.
“It still smells a little like his shaving soap.”
Luca turned away.
Antonio's coat had hung in Teresa's wardrobe since his death.
She never wore it.
But whenever she missed him badly, she took it down and held it.
I remembered finding her asleep in her chair with the coat across her knees.
She'd apologized for being sentimental.
I'd told her there was nothing wrong with missing someone.
Now that coat was packed into a suitcase because she'd believed she was leaving her family behind.
Something heavy slid from one of the pockets.
An old silver pocket watch.
I caught it before it reached the floor.
“Mrs. Moretti?”
She smiled through her tears.
“Antonio's watch.”
Luca looked up.
“He carried that every day.”
Teresa nodded.
“Even after it stopped keeping proper time.”
I turned it over.
There was a tiny engraving.
For every hour we get together. — T.
Luca took the watch.
His thumb moved over the words.
For a moment, he looked unable to speak.
Then Teresa said, “I was going to leave it for you.”
“Why?”
“So you'd have something of your father after I went.”
Luca closed his hand around the watch.
“I'd rather have you both here.”
Teresa began crying again.
Mrs. Carter quietly stepped forward.
“Mr. Moretti, there is one more matter concerning Briarwood.”
Luca looked up.
“What?”
“The payment.”
She opened the financial section of the folder.
Inside was an ordinary receipt.
The amount caught my eye immediately.
Two thousand four hundred dollars.
I felt my stomach turn.
Four months.
Six hundred dollars each month.
The exact sum Teresa had already given Vanessa.
Luca examined the receipt.
“Briarwood received twenty-four hundred dollars?”
Mrs. Carter nodded.
“The payment was recorded as a residential reservation and placement fee.”
Teresa looked confused.
“But I thought the money was helping pay Emily.”
I reached for her hand.
“It wasn't, Mrs. Moretti.”
She stared at the receipt.
“Then Vanessa lied about that, too?”
I couldn't answer.
Luca placed the paper on the table.
“Every dollar Mom gave her went toward arranging the very move she was frightened of.”
Daniel examined the date.
“October twenty-ninth,” he said.
“The same day Mom wrote her request,” Luca replied.
Mrs. Carter nodded.
“There is also a preliminary instruction for repainting the east bedroom.”
Luca frowned.
“Mom's bedroom?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why?”
“It was supposed to begin after her belongings were removed.”
Luca looked at his mother.
“Did you request any changes to your room?”
Teresa shook her head.
“No.”
Mrs. Carter handed him a folded sheet from the household planning file.
It showed the east wing.
Teresa's bedroom.
Her sitting room.
Antonio's bookshelves.
And the little window overlooking the rose garden.
Someone had crossed out the words Teresa Moretti — Private Suite.
In their place was a new description.
Luca stared at it.
Then his expression turned cold.
Because the proposed room wasn't labeled for another elderly resident.
It wasn't even labeled as a guest bedroom.
Written across the top were the words:
May you like
VANESSA BELLINI — PRIVATE BRIDAL SUITE.
And beneath them was an instruction to begin clearing Teresa's belongings before the wedding.
