Chapter 12
I went home and sat in Sofia’s old room.
I had kept it locked for years.
Not as a shrine.
As a wound I refused to touch.
Now I opened every drawer.
Every box.
Every memory.
Her blue scarf still smelled faintly like cedar.
Her books had notes in the margins.
Her wedding ring sat in a velvet case because I had not known what to do with it after the funeral.
I placed it in my palm.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
Camila found me there.
She sat beside me on the floor.
“You didn’t push her.”
“I brought Helena into our home.”
“You were grieving.”
“I was careless.”
“You were targeted.”
I looked at her.
“Both can be true.”
She nodded.
We sat in silence.
Then she said, “Leo needs to see you get back up.”
I closed the ring box.
“You’re right.”
Enzo Moretti was arrested that afternoon trying to board a private plane.
He had cash, forged passports, and Helena’s burner phone in his luggage.
On that phone, police found messages from the morning of the garage incident.
Push the boy harder. We need proof Carmine is unstable when he reacts.
Helena replied: Today will do it.
They wanted me to explode.
They wanted cameras to capture me hurting her.
Then she would claim fear.
Take Leo.
Take the trust.
Take everything Sofia died protecting.
Instead, Leo had spoken.
My son had saved himself.
That evening, I told him part of the truth.
Not the balcony.
Not yet.
Only that Helena had lied, and police had proof, and she could not come back.
Leo listened.
Then asked, “Can I have Mom’s scarf?”
May you like
I gave it to him.
He slept with it wrapped around his pillow.
