Chapter 9 – The Letter Left Behind

I stared at the faded ink on the envelope.

To Maria.

My mother’s name.

The handwriting was elegant but shaky, as if the person writing it had been in a rush. Or in pain.

I looked around the empty, gleaming kitchen. Rosa must have left it here for me while I was cleaning up the dining room.

My hands trembled as I slid my finger under the flap and pulled out a single sheet of stationary. It bore the Bellini family crest at the top, but the paper was yellowed with age.

Maria, the letter began.

If you are reading this, it means I did not make it to the train station.

I sucked in a breath. It was from Evelyn. My aunt.

I am so sorry to leave you alone, the letter continued. But Arthur found out I was leaving. He told me if I tried to take Celeste, he would make sure you suffered in the orphanage. I couldn’t let him hurt you.

Tears pricked my eyes. Even at the end, terrified for her own life, Evelyn was trying to protect her little sister.

Nico’s mother is helping me. She is a good woman. She gave me the silver watch to sell, but I am not taking it. I am leaving it in my coat pocket for Celeste, in case we are separated.

I paused, reading that line again.

Evelyn didn’t take the watch to sell. She left it for Celeste as a keepsake.

But Maria, there is something else you need to know. Arthur thinks he won. He thinks he controls everything because of his money. But he doesn’t know what I took from his safe before I packed my bags.

My heart hammered against my ribs.

Evelyn didn’t just take the ledgers. Rosa had the ledgers. This was something else.

I didn’t give everything to Rosa. I knew Rosa would be watched. So I hid the most important document in the one place Arthur would never look.

I read the final lines, my breath catching in my throat.

Look inside the lining of my old winter coat, Maria. The blue one I used to wear when we walked to church. I stitched it inside the hem. Keep it safe. It belongs to you and Celeste.

I lowered the letter, my mind racing.

The blue coat.

I remembered it. When Evelyn died, the hospital returned her belongings to my mother in a plastic bag. My mother had kept that blue coat hanging in our tiny apartment closet for thirty years. I used to bury my face in it when I was a little girl, imagining the aunt I never met.

I grabbed my bag, practically running out the back door of the Bellini estate.

I didn’t wait for the bus. I hailed an expensive cab, ignoring the cost, my mind entirely focused on getting back to my mother’s apartment.

Thirty minutes later, I burst through the door of our cramped, dimly lit home. My brother was asleep on the couch. I rushed past him, straight to my mother’s bedroom.

She was sleeping soundly, the rhythmic beep of her dialysis machine the only sound in the room.

I opened her closet.

The smell of mothballs and old wool hit me.

I pushed aside the cheap shirts and worn-out dresses until I found it.

The heavy, navy blue wool coat.

I pulled it off the hanger, my hands shaking. I laid it flat on my mother’s bed and ran my fingers along the bottom hem.

About halfway across the back, the thick wool felt stiff. Something flat and rigid was sewn between the layers of fabric.

TITLE: The Hidden Hem

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