Chapter 8: The Woman Who Was Supposed To Be Dead
Nobody spoke after the voice came through Antonio's phone.
Not because we were calm.
Because none of us understood what we had just heard.
I stared at the device.
Waiting for someone to explain.
Waiting for reality to correct itself.
It didn't.
“Put it on speaker.””
Antonio didn't move.
“Antonio.””
Slowly, he did.
The voice returned.
“Is he there?””
My heart stopped.
She knew.
She knew I was standing there.
“Isabelle?””
My voice sounded unfamiliar.
The line went silent.
Then a breath.
A broken breath.
“Dominic.””
I grabbed the phone.
“Where are you?””
Another silence.
Then:
“I can't tell you.””
My hand tightened.
“You died.””
“No.””
The answer was immediate.
“No, I didn't.””
The room spun.
Behind me, I heard Olivia whisper.
“Mommy?””
The sound on the phone changed.
A sob.
A real one.
Not a performance.
Not an act.
“Olivia?””
My daughter stepped forward.
Grace grabbed her hand.
“Mommy?””
Isabelle cried.
The sound destroyed me.
Because for fourteen months, my daughters had lived with a dead mother.
And for fourteen months, that mother had been alive somewhere.
“Why?””
The question escaped me.
Not angry.
Broken.
“Why did you let us believe you were dead?””
The line stayed silent.
Then Isabelle said:
“Because someone wanted me gone.””
“Who?””
“You.””
I closed my eyes.
There it was again.
The accusation.
The one thing my mind refused to accept.
“I would never hurt you.””
“I know.””
Her answer surprised me.
“I know you wouldn't.””
“Then explain.””
“Dominic, listen carefully.””
Her voice became urgent.
“The person who ordered my death used your identity.””
I looked at Marcus.
At Antonio.
At the files.
“Someone made it look like me?””
“Yes.””
“Why?””
“Because everyone knows what you are capable of.””
The words hurt.
Because they were true.
A monster could be blamed for anything.
Even things he didn't do.
“I need to see you.””
“No.””
“Isabelle.””
“No.””
Her voice cracked.
“If I come back too soon, our daughters die.””
The room became silent.
“What?””
“The person behind this is still close.””
My eyes moved around the room.
Everyone became a possibility.
Marcus.
Antonio.
My own people.
Myself.
“Who?””
She whispered:
“Someone you trust completely.””
I looked at Antonio.
Then Marcus.
“Give me a name.””
“I can't.””
“Why?””
“Because if I say it, they will know I know.””
I gripped the phone.
“Isabelle, fourteen months.””
“I know.””
“I buried you.””
“I know.””
“I watched our daughters stop speaking.””
Her voice broke.
“I know.””
“Then come home.””
A long pause.
Then:
“I want to.””
That hurt more than anything.
Because I heard the truth.
She wanted to.
She was afraid.
“What happened that morning?””
Silence.
Then Isabelle said:
“Dominic, you weren't yourself.””
I froze.
“What does that mean?””
“You were drugged.””
The basement went quiet.
“By who?””
“I don't know.””
“But you think I attacked you?””
“No.””
“Then why?””
“Because you came to the preschool looking for me.””
My chest tightened.
“What?””
“You were holding a gun.””
Nobody moved.
I felt Marcus staring at me.
Antonio looked away.
“I would never.””
“I know.””
Again.
That answer.
“I know you, Dominic.””
Her voice softened.
“You would die before hurting me.””
“Then what happened?””
“You don't remember because someone made sure you wouldn't.””
I looked at the files.
The medical reports.
The missing pieces.
“Where are you?””
“I can't tell you.””
“Isabelle.””
“Dominic.””
Her voice became desperate.
“You need to find the person who was with me that morning.””
“Who?””
A pause.
Then:
“The person who took the gun away from you.””
The call ended.
I stood frozen.
A second later, Marcus spoke.
“You don't remember.””
I turned.
“Remember what?””
His face was full of guilt.
“I was there.””
The words hit.
“What?””
Marcus swallowed.
“I found you outside the preschool.””
My breathing stopped.
“You?””
“Yes.””
“You saw me?””
“Yes.””
“And you never told me?””
“I couldn't.””
“Why?””
Marcus looked at the floor.
“Because you weren't alone.””
My voice became quiet.
“Who was with me?””
Marcus looked up.
And said:
“Your father.””
I stared.
“My father is dead.””
“I know.””
“Then who?””
Marcus's face went pale.
“The man who raised you.””
The answer made no sense.
Until it did.
My father had died.
But before he died, he had one person he trusted with everything.
One person who knew our family.
One person who disappeared after the funeral.
A person nobody questioned.
Because everyone thought he was gone.
I whispered the name.
“Victor.””
Marcus nodded.
And my phone buzzed.
A new message.
From an unknown number.
One sentence.
*Come to the old Romano house if you want the truth about your father.*
Then another message arrived.
A photograph.
A woman standing in front of the old house.
Alive.
May you like
Looking directly at the camera.
Isabelle.
