Chapter 4 – THE GOODBYE SHE WROTE HERSELF

Teresa pulled her hand away from Luca.

The movement was small.

But I saw how much it hurt him.

“You asked Vanessa to find me somewhere else?” she whispered.

Luca nodded.

“I asked her to gather information about different kinds of care.”

“Without talking to me?”

“Yes.”

“Because you thought I was too old to decide?”

“No, Mom.”

“Then why?”

He looked at the white tablecloth.

“Because I was afraid.”

Teresa stared at him.

“Of what?”

“Of something happening to you when I wasn’t there.”

His voice became quieter.

“Vanessa said you’d nearly fallen. She said you were forgetting things. I thought maybe I wasn’t seeing how much help you needed.”

Teresa looked at me.

“Emily, have I been forgetting things?”

“Nothing unusual, Mrs. Moretti.”

She turned back to Luca.

“Then you should’ve asked me.”

“I know.”

He didn’t offer another excuse.

And I respected him for that.

Because Teresa didn’t need a powerful son explaining away his mistake.

She needed a son willing to admit he’d made one.

“Your father was afraid when I got older, too,” she said.

Luca looked up.

“He used to walk behind me on the stairs.”

A faint smile crossed her face.

“I finally told him that if he kept hovering, I’d be more likely to trip over him than the carpet.”

Luca almost laughed.

“He sounds like Dad.”

“He was a stubborn man.”

“So are you.”

Teresa’s smile disappeared.

“But he never made decisions about my life without telling me.”

Luca accepted the words.

“You’re right.”

Mrs. Carter quietly collected the empty champagne glasses.

I helped her clear the nearest place settings.

Neither of us wanted to leave Teresa alone with what she was hearing.

After a while, Luca asked, “Mom, did you ever tell Vanessa you wanted to move?”

Teresa hesitated.

“Not exactly.”

“What did you tell her?”

“That I missed having friends.”

Luca looked surprised.

Teresa continued.

“Sometimes the house feels very quiet.”

I understood.

The estate had dozens of rooms.

But there were afternoons when Teresa could walk from one end to the other without encountering anyone who wasn’t working.

She’d lost Antonio.

Several of her closest friends had died.

And Luca’s work kept him occupied for long hours.

She was loved.

But she was also lonely.

“Vanessa told me Briarwood had people my age,” Teresa said.

“That sounds nice,” Luca replied carefully.

“She said they played cards. Had music in the evenings.”

“Would you like things like that?”

Teresa nodded.

“Of course.”

“Then we should’ve talked about finding them.”

Her face tightened.

“She said you wouldn’t understand.”

Luca looked down.

“And I made that easier for her to say.”

Teresa began opening her purse.

She took out an old photograph.

I recognized it immediately.

Antonio Moretti stood outside a small automobile repair shop.

His sleeves were rolled up.

Beside him stood Teresa, much younger, holding a little boy’s hand.

Luca was perhaps six.

His hair was sticking up in three different directions.

Teresa placed the photograph on the table.

“Do you remember this?”

Luca smiled sadly.

“Dad’s first garage.”

“We were renting the little apartment upstairs.”

“I remember the kitchen.”

Teresa nodded.

“The refrigerator barely worked. In summer, I kept a bowl underneath because it leaked.”

Luca gave a faint laugh.

“You used to say it was crying.”

“And you believed me.”

She touched the photograph.

“One winter, your father lost three big customers. We couldn’t afford the rent.”

Luca’s smile faded.

“I never knew.”

“Of course you didn’t. You were six.”

“What happened?”

“Your father took an extra shift. I cleaned offices before sunrise.”

Her voice softened.

“And when we finally paid what we owed, I promised myself that you would never feel frightened about having somewhere to sleep.”

Luca looked at her.

“Mom—”

“I kept that promise, didn’t I?”

He reached across the table.

“You did.”

Teresa’s eyes filled.

“Then how did I become someone who’s afraid of losing her own bed?”

I couldn’t look at him.

Luca stared at the photograph.

Finally, he whispered, “Because I stopped paying attention.”

Teresa didn’t answer.

But she didn’t pull away when he touched her hand again.

I thought perhaps we were beginning to repair something.

Then Mrs. Carter found a small white envelope tucked inside the back cover of the blue folder.

“Mr. Moretti?”

Luca looked up.

“What is it?”

“This appears to be a separate request.”

He took the envelope.

Inside was a single handwritten page.

Teresa recognized it immediately.

Her face drained of color.

Luca unfolded it.

I watched his eyes move down the page.

He didn’t speak.

“Luca?” Teresa whispered.

He looked at her.

“Mom, did you write this yourself?”

She nodded slowly.

“I did.”

“Did Vanessa tell you what to write?”

That answer surprised all of us.

Teresa swallowed.

“She gave me the paper. But the words were mine.”

Luca stared at the page.

Then read the first sentence quietly.

I no longer wish to remain a permanent member of my son’s household.

Teresa began crying.

He continued.

I believe another living arrangement would be healthier for everyone involved.

His voice faltered.

And beneath those lines was something even worse.

I am requesting permanent residence at Briarwood House, even if my son later asks me to return.

Luca lowered the paper.

“Mom, why would you write that?”

Teresa stared at Antonio’s photograph.

Then whispered, “Because by the time Vanessa gave me the paper, I wasn’t sure I deserved to come back.”