Chapter 5
The silence in the community hall was so absolute I could hear the hum of the fluorescent lights.
Arthur took a step back, his face draining of color.
“That’s absurd,” Arthur sputtered, though his hands were visibly shaking. “I’m a mechanic. I don't own mortgages.”
“No, you don't,” Luca agreed smoothly. “But you forged your brother’s signature on the house deed three days before he died. You took out a second mortgage against Margaret’s home, pocketed the cash, and let the debt default. The bank bought it. Vanessa bought it from the bank to hold over Margaret’s head.”
I felt the floor vanish beneath me.
Thomas hadn't left us in debt. Arthur had stolen our home while my husband was dying in a hospital bed.
“You… you stole our house?” I choked out, clutching little Lily closer to my legs.
“He didn't just steal the house,” Teresa Moretti said, stepping forward. The seventy-eight-year-old matriarch leaned on her cane, her eyes flashing with a fierce, protective fire. “He stole your dignity, Margaret. He watched you suffer for six years so he could play the wealthy savior today.”
Arthur’s eyes darted toward the exits. Daniel shifted his massive weight, blocking the only clear path to the door.
“Sophie, honey, listen to me,” Arthur pleaded, dropping the angry act and trying to look pitiful. “I did it to start my business! Thomas owed me! I was going to give you the money tonight as a wedding gift!”
Sophie didn't say a word. She just walked up to him.
And she slapped him.
The sharp crack echoed off the walls. Arthur stumbled backward, holding his cheek in shock.
“You let my mother sell her wedding ring,” Sophie whispered, her voice venomous. “Get out. Get out of my wedding before my husband throws you through the window.”
David stepped up beside Sophie, his fists clenched, looking fully prepared to fulfill that promise.
Arthur looked around the room. Not a single person offered him sympathy. He threw the silver watch onto the floor in disgust and stormed toward the exit, pushing past the silent guests.
I stared at the silver watch lying on the polished wood.
My knees gave out. I dropped to the floor, my black maid’s uniform pooling around me, and gently picked up the scratched silver watch. I pressed it to my chest, closing my eyes as six years of crushing, suffocating guilt finally evaporated.
Thomas didn't leave us.
Suddenly, I felt a pair of arms wrap around my neck.
I opened my eyes. Sophie was kneeling on the floor in her white wedding dress, her arms wrapped tightly around me.
“I’m so sorry, Mom,” she sobbed into my shoulder. “I’m so sorry I believed them. I should have known. I should have waited.”
I dropped the watch and wrapped my arms around my daughter, burying my face in her hair.
“You look so beautiful,” I cried, kissing her cheek. “My beautiful girl.”
We stayed on the floor, holding each other, surrounded by a hundred and fifty silent guests. For the first time in six years, I didn't feel like a maid. I felt like a mother.
When we finally stood up, David handed me a clean handkerchief. I wiped my eyes, suddenly hyper-aware of my stained uniform, the messy hair, the ruined corsage still pinned to my chest.
“I’m sorry I’m not wearing the blue dress, sweetie,” I whispered, looking down at my apron.
Teresa Moretti stepped forward. She gently reached out and touched the crushed white rosebuds on my chest.
“A mother’s love isn't measured in silk, Margaret,” Teresa said softly. “It’s measured in the miles she runs in the dark to get to her child. You are the best-dressed woman in this room.”
Teresa turned to the DJ, who was staring wide-eyed from his booth.
“Maestro,” Teresa commanded, pointing her silver cane. “Play the song.”
The DJ scrambled. A second later, the soft, familiar acoustic chords filled the room.
Our song. The one Thomas used to play in the kitchen on Saturday mornings.
Sophie held out her hand to me. Tears were streaming down her face, but she was smiling. That beautiful, stubborn smile.
“You promised me a dance, Mom,” Sophie whispered.
I took her hand.
I stepped onto the floor in my black uniform and worn rubber shoes. I held my daughter, and we began to shuffle around the floor, just like she used to do on Thomas’s shoes.
We were terrible dancers. We stepped on each other’s toes. We laughed through our tears.
And as the chorus swelled, a flash of movement near the doorway caught my eye.
Vanessa Bellini had just walked into the hall.
May you like
Her red satin dress was drenched in rain. Her makeup was smeared. And flanked by two aggressive-looking men in cheap suits, she was staring directly at Luca with an expression of pure, unhinged desperation.
“Stop the music!” Vanessa screamed.
