Chapter 8
The paternity question had been manufactured before Sophie was born.
Nora remembered it.
“Helena asked for a test.”
I looked at her.
“You never told me.”
“She said you requested it.”
Of course.
I looked at my mother.
“I did not.”
Helena folded her hands.
“It was reasonable.”
“Then why lie?”
Silence.
Nora continued.
“I agreed because I thought it would stop the questions.”
“What happened?”
“The clinic sent the result.”
“Positive?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
Nora laughed bitterly.
“Helena told me she gave it to you.”
I never saw it.
My mother had.
Then she told family members the opposite.
I felt disgust move through me.
“Where is it?”
Helena said nothing.
One of my guards searched her private study.
They found the original sealed report in a locked drawer.
Three years old.
Sophie D’Angelo.
Probability of paternity effectively conclusive.
I stared at my name beside hers.
A piece of paper had known she was mine for three years while I did not know whether my own daughter would recognize my face.
Nora stood beside me.
“I thought you saw that and still left.”
My throat tightened.
“I thought you refused contact after the result.”
She looked at me.
“How?”
“Helena gave me a letter.”
My mother’s face changed.
I continued.
“Signed by you.”
Nora stared.
“What letter?”
I had kept it.
One page.
Nora supposedly telling me Sophie was better without the D’Angelo family and asking that all future communication go through Helena.
Nora read it.
Then looked at me.
“I didn’t write this.”
“I know that now.”
Her eyes filled.
But she did not forgive me.
Good.
Forgiveness would have been too easy.
“You accepted it.”
I nodded.
“Yes.”
“You didn’t come yourself.”
“No.”
Her voice cracked.
“You run half this city, Roman.”
I closed my eyes.
“I know.”
“You could have found us.”
“Yes.”
No defense.
Helena created the lie.
May you like
But I allowed distance, pride, and protocol to protect it.
That part belonged to me.
