Chapter 4 – THE LETTER SHE NEVER RECEIVED

“Vanessa took Anna’s letter?”

Luca was staring at the hospital record.

I nodded.

“According to the property receipt, she collected it the morning after Anna was admitted.”

He reached for the document.

“Where did it go?”

“We don’t know.”

“Then we find Vanessa.”

I understood the urgency.

But I was beginning to understand something else about Luca Moretti.

He was accustomed to solving problems by issuing instructions.

People moved when he told them to move.

Doors opened.

Records appeared.

Answers were expected.

Illness didn’t work that way.

Neither did evidence.

“Luca, we need the original records preserved,” I said. “And you need to let the hospital handle anything connected to Anna’s care.”

He looked irritated.

“I’m her husband.”

“You were her husband. That gives you a reason to want answers. It doesn’t make every conclusion yours to decide.”

He studied me.

Then he leaned back.

“You have a remarkable talent for making me feel twelve years old.”

“I have a mother who taught me to practice.”

For the first time that morning, he smiled.

But it didn’t last.

“Anna was trying to reach me,” he said. “And I let them tell me she didn’t want me.”

I looked at him.

“That’s the part you keep coming back to.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“Yes.”

I pulled out the chair opposite him.

“But somebody made decisions about what information you received. That’s what we have to understand.”

Maria had been standing quietly near the door.

Now she spoke.

“There were two letters.”

Luca turned.

“What?”

“The one from the hospital. And another one Mrs. Anna wrote at home.”

“When?”

“Three weeks before she passed.”

“That’s the letter Victor took?”

Maria nodded.

“She asked me to bring it to you.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I tried.”

Her voice began shaking.

“Mr. Bellini came into the kitchen while I was putting it in an envelope. He said Mrs. Anna was confused again, and I had no right to interfere with her treatment.”

Luca’s expression darkened.

“And you gave it to him?”

“He took it from the counter.”

“Maria.”

She flinched.

I stood.

“Luca.”

He closed his eyes.

Then he looked at her.

“I’m sorry. Go on.”

Maria pressed a tissue against her mouth.

“Anna had written it herself. Her hands shook so badly she could hardly hold the pen.”

“Do you remember what it said?”

“No. I didn’t read it.”

“Did Victor return it?”

“Never.”

Luca stared at the floor.

For years, he’d been told Anna’s final months were filled with confusion and fear.

Now, one by one, we were finding evidence that she’d been trying to communicate.

And somebody kept deciding she wasn’t worth listening to.

I looked toward the photograph of Anna.

“Was there anything else she asked you to keep?”

Maria hesitated.

“Her gray coat.”

I turned.

“The one in the wardrobe?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“She said she didn’t want her father taking it.”

Luca looked puzzled.

“He wanted her coat?”

“He asked me whether she’d left anything in the pockets.”

A strange silence followed.

I’d examined that coat earlier.

It had felt ordinary.

Soft wool.

A repaired cuff.

One loose button.

I thought of my own mother, who kept grocery receipts in coat pockets long after she’d forgotten what she’d bought.

“What did you find?” I asked.

“Nothing,” Maria said. “I checked.”

Then she looked at Luca.

“But Mrs. Anna kept telling me not to give it away.”

We went upstairs.

The gray coat still hung in the cedar wardrobe.

Luca took it down carefully.

“She wore this on our anniversary.”

“What did you do?” I asked.

“We went to dinner.”

He smiled faintly.

“She ordered dessert first.”

“That sounds like a woman with priorities.”

“She said if she got too tired to finish dinner, at least she’d had chocolate cake.”

His smile faded.

I examined the lining.

There was a small repair along the inside seam.

The stitches were uneven.

“Who repaired this?”

Maria leaned forward.

“Mrs. Anna did.”

“Was she good at sewing?”

“Terrible.”

Luca almost laughed.

“She once sewed a button onto my jacket and trapped the sleeve shut.”

I examined the seam again.

Something flat was beneath the fabric.

Not thick enough to be a notebook.

More like folded paper.

I looked at Luca.

“May I?”

He nodded.

I carefully opened a few of the loose stitches.

Inside was a folded card.

It had been wrapped in tissue to keep it from catching against the wool.

I opened it.

An appointment receipt.

Dated September 2014.

Dr. Harris’s private clinic.

On the back, in Anna’s handwriting, were seven dates.

Each had a number beside it.

Some were circled.

Others were crossed out.

At the bottom she’d written:

I am clear in the mornings. Ask me before the appointment.

Luca looked at the card.

“What are these numbers?”

I studied them.

“They could be blood glucose readings.”

“Could they show what happened to her?”

“Possibly. But they’re incomplete, and we don’t know how she measured them.”

I held the card closer.

The numbers weren’t all low.

Several were normal.

The lower values had been recorded after scheduled treatments.

It was the same pattern we’d seen in the green notebook.

Except this time, Anna herself appeared to have been trying to measure it.

“She knew,” Luca whispered.

“She suspected something was happening.”

Then I noticed a line on the back of the card.

It was written in smaller letters.

Victor says I’m imagining things. Vanessa says I need to trust the doctor.

Luca read it.

His jaw tightened.

“Vanessa was involved.”

“We know she participated. We don’t know how much she understood.”

He looked at me.

“You’re still defending her.”

“No. I’m trying not to replace evidence with anger.”

He returned the card to me.

For a moment, I thought we’d found everything.

Then Maria pointed toward the tissue wrapper.

“There’s writing on that too.”

I unfolded it.

The paper was thin.

Almost transparent.

On one side was a handwritten list of ordinary items.

Soap. Bread. Mother’s birthday card.

On the other was something entirely different.

A note addressed to Luca.

Only the first few lines survived.

The bottom had been torn away.

I read them aloud.

Luca, I know what Harris is giving me. I found the name on the packaging before Vanessa took it away.

Please don’t let them tell you I’m imagining this.

I stopped.

The next sentence was written more heavily.

“If Victor finds out I’ve told you, he’ll do what he threatened to do to Vanessa.”

Luca stared at the paper.

Then at Maria.

“What did my father-in-law threaten his own daughter with?”

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