Chapter 4

My grandfather looked at me. "Apologize first. Then maybe I'll show you."

My back was pressed against the wall, and every breath felt like another blow to the ribs. When Marco stepped forward, I immediately tucked the arm holding the jacket behind my back.

"I can tell you exactly what I did that night." I looked at my grandfather. "But you won't even let me see it. Am I just supposed to admit to whatever you accuse me of?"

My brother started to say something, but my grandfather raised a hand to stop him. Marco fell silent. I lowered my hand and leaned against the wall. They weren't going to explain anything to me.

Enzo stood at the end of the covered walkway and suddenly said, "I'll show you."

He walked over and asked Marco to take Grandpa back to his place in town. They'd had enough drama for one day. He'd handle the rest.

Marco took my document pouch out of his pocket and handed it to Viola. She folded my passport in half and slipped it into her leather bag beside her keys.

"Just don't hurt her too badly," my brother said quietly.

I looked at him. The bruises on my neck still ached, and all he could do was tell them not to hurt me too badly. When he turned to help my grandfather, I didn't call out to him again.

Once the car had left the estate, Enzo crouched in front of me and set a few printed pages on my knees. They were the divorce papers my lawyer had sent me. I'd tucked them into my suitcase before I left.

"You really have to leave here?"

"Yes."

"You don't want to be my wife anymore?"

I nodded. He wiped the dried blood from the corner of my mouth with the back of his finger. His voice softened, just like it used to when we were alone. "You don't want Leo either?"

I shoved his hand away so hard I doubled over in pain.

"What gives you the right to speak for him?"

Enzo didn't explain. Once I'd caught my breath, he took my arm and led me toward the guest wing. Viola walked ahead with the tablet, glancing back now and then as if she were afraid I'd change my mind.

When she reached a door, she gripped the key and stared at me. "When you go in, don't scream or rush forward."

From inside came the soft clink of a cup being set on a table. I looked up at her, then at Enzo.

"Who else is in there?"

"You don't get to ask."

I stopped. The window at the end of the hall faced the courtyard. I used a chair for support as I shuffled over and reached for the latch. Someone outside looked up at the noise, but Enzo slammed the window shut and grabbed my shoulder.

"If you still want to know, come in with me."

This time he didn't keep his voice down. I stared at the tablet in Viola's hand and didn't try the window again. Whatever was on it had been enough to turn my brother and Sofia against me. I had to see for myself what they were using to make me admit I'd done something wrong.

Viola finally unlocked the door.

The first thing I saw was a pair of kids' slippers by the bed. Then a piece of bread on the table with one bite taken out of it. A little boy sat under the desk lamp, his head down, playing with a toy car that was missing a door. There was a crescent-shaped scar between his left thumb and index finger.

He was taller than the child I remembered, and his hair was cut shorter. My grip on Enzo's arm slowly loosened. I stared at his face, wanting to go to him, but my legs wouldn't move.

The boy looked up at my face and slowly tightened his grip on the little car.

I wanted to say Leo's name, but I couldn't get it out. For 18 months, I'd dreamed of finding him in his room, again and again. Every time I reached out to touch him, the lights went out. Sometimes I'd wake up still searching the bed for his slippers.

Viola held out an arm to stop him. He leaned around it and looked at the little jacket in my arms, stiff with ash and water.

"Mommy, why did it take you so long to come back?"

I lunged toward him, but Enzo caught me around the waist from behind. The pain nearly made me collapse. He shut the door with his other hand and held me back.

18 months ago, I'd held this jacket at my son's funeral. Now he was sitting on a bed just a few steps away, calling me Mommy.