Chapter 4 - THE GREENHOUSE STAIRS
I couldn't go to the greenhouse myself. My leg was wrapped, elevated, and attached to a list of restrictions that seemed to grow every time a therapist entered the room. Yet the knowledge that Sophie might have seen something years earlier pressed against me like a second injury. I wanted to find answers without putting her through another frightening interrogation.
Luca called a child psychologist recommended independently by Sophie's pediatrician. Her name was Dr. Maya Ortiz, and she specialized in helping children speak about distressing experiences without suggestive questioning. She came to the mansion the next day with colored pencils, a small wooden puppet house, and the kind of calm manner that made adults stop performing for each other.
Luca explained the sketchbook note but did not tell Sophie what answer anyone expected. He promised her she could choose whether to talk. Dr. Ortiz made clear that Sophie was not responsible for solving the investigation.
I joined by video call only after Sophie asked for me. She sat on the floor of the playroom, the ribbon loosely threaded through her fingers.
"I remember the greenhouse," she said. "Mama and I grew tomatoes there."
"What did you like about it?" Dr. Ortiz asked.
"It smelled like dirt after rain. And Mama let me draw labels for the plants."
They talked about plant names and the horrible worm Sophie once found in a watering can. Eventually Sophie mentioned an argument she'd heard near the greenhouse. She remembered Sarah telling someone to stop asking about a blue folder. The other person wore shiny red shoes, the kind Vanessa favored now. But Sophie could not say who it was, and Dr. Ortiz didn't press her.
"Mama told me to hide behind the potting bench," Sophie said. "She gave me a little key. I put it in the frog."
"What frog?" Luca asked, startled.
"The stone one under the stairs. It has a hole in its belly. You said it was ugly."
Luca covered his mouth, laughing once despite everything. "I did say that."
"Mama liked it."
"I know, sweetheart."
After the conversation, Dr. Ortiz spoke privately with Luca. Sophie might remember more, she said, but they should not chase a perfect narrative. If the frog existed, the adults could investigate it without making Sophie witness another confrontation.
Marco checked the greenhouse with a police officer and a property technician. The stairs had been boarded for three years, but the stone frog sat exactly where Sophie said it would, half-hidden behind a fallen trellis. Inside the hollow belly they found a tiny brass key wrapped in plastic.
It opened a weatherproof box behind a loose wall panel. In the box were three things: an old phone with a damaged screen, a memory card, and a letter addressed to Luca.
He read the letter that evening beside my hospital bed. Sarah's handwriting sloped more sharply than usual, as if she had written it in a hurry.
Luca, if you're reading this, I failed to tell you something before I had proof. The Bellini company has been using our construction accounts to disguise payments. I think somebody arranged your collision because you refused the waterfront deal. I don't know whom I can trust. Please keep Sophie away from Aldo until this is settled. I love you. Don't let fear make your choices for you.
Luca stopped reading. I watched his face struggle to remain composed.
"She knew," he whispered. "Sarah was investigating it alone."
"Maybe she was trying to protect you while you recovered."
"She should have told me."
"Maybe she tried."
He bowed his head. I did not reach for him immediately. Grief can become a crowded room when everyone rushes in to explain it. After a minute, I laid my hand near his, letting him choose whether to take it. He did.
"I keep thinking about the last thing I said to her," he admitted. "I told her to stop spending every evening at the office. I thought she was hiding from how different our lives had become."
"You didn't know."
"That doesn't make it easier."
We sat with the ache of that truth. Then Luca asked to read the letter again, this time slowly, as if the words might rearrange themselves into a happier ending.
The phone's memory card held photographs of bank statements and a short recording of Sarah speaking to a man. His voice was faint, but she addressed him as Mr. Bellini. She accused his company of routing money through subcontractors that had never performed work. The man replied that she was misunderstanding the arrangement and should be careful about damaging family friendships.
It wasn't a confession to violence. But it was evidence of a financial dispute that nobody had disclosed after her death. Luca instructed his counsel to preserve the original files and give copies to investigators.
Then another detail emerged. The damaged phone contained a text from an unsaved number, sent only hours before Sarah's fall: She already knows. Make the stairs look like an accident.
"That sounds like a threat," I said.
"It sounds like evidence," Luca answered. "We need to establish who sent it and whether it was genuine."
A digital forensics specialist began examining the device. Meanwhile, my mother arrived with a container of soup that smelled like our kitchen when I was little. She visited in the afternoon when Luca was gone. We ate together, and she told me how our neighbors had left groceries at her door after hearing about the injury. I'd spent days fearing a job loss would destroy us, but people I'd once barely noticed were quietly helping.
"The hospital keeps asking when you can come home," she said.
"I want to."
"Then we're going to make the downstairs bedroom work for you. Your friend Lena offered to help move furniture."
I had not told her about Miriam's temporary housing search. When I did, she shook her head.
"I don't want you living in a stranger's property because you feel obliged to a rich man."
"Neither do I," I said. "The attorney is looking at options, not deciding for me."
She studied my face, then nodded. "Good."
After she left, Miriam brought the first formal paperwork relating to the assault. The prosecutor was evaluating charges. The hospital records documented the injuries, and multiple witnesses had confirmed Vanessa's attempts to keep Sophie away from the dinner. What remained disputed was the precise moment of the fall. The service staircase camera had been disabled just before the incident.
"Another camera failure," I said.
Miriam nodded. "A technician signed a maintenance request at four twelve. We've asked for the work order."
"What time did Vanessa hit me?"
"Approximately four twenty."
The timing was too close to ignore, though I reminded myself that coincidence and planning can look similar from a hospital bed. Miriam told me not to contact anyone involved directly. I promised I wouldn't.
That night, Luca sent a message asking whether he could visit the following morning with Sophie. I answered yes. I missed the girl fiercely and wanted to show her that a bandage wasn't a reason for shame.
But before I put down my phone, an unknown caller rang. I let it go to voicemail. The recorded message was short and spoken by a woman whose voice I recognized at once.
"Claire, it's Vanessa. You don't understand the choice you've made. Luca's wife wasn't the innocent woman he remembers. You should ask why Sarah kept a second copy of Sophie's birth certificate."
I replayed the message twice. I didn't believe Vanessa simply because she'd said it, but the detail was too specific to ignore.
The next morning, Luca arrived carrying a small gift bag. Sophie followed him into the room, stopping first to ask whether hugging me would hurt. I shook my head, and she climbed carefully onto the edge of the bed.
"I brought you a ribbon," she said. "Not Mama's. A new one, for when you're better."
It was pale green. I held it between my fingers like something precious.
When Luca stepped into the hallway to speak to my surgeon, I asked Sophie what she remembered about her birth certificate. Her face grew puzzled.
"I saw two once," she said. "One said Sophie Moretti. The other had a different last name."
"Do you remember which one?"
She shook her head. "But I remember what Mama said."
"What was that?"
May you like
Before I ended the call, I asked Luca whether Sophie was sleeping. He said she had requested a night-light in the hallway and had moved her mother's framed photograph closer to the bed. He was letting her decide which objects made the room feel safe. For weeks I had worried that someone would say the child needed to be tougher. Hearing that her father understood the difference between comfort and weakness eased something in me. I reminded him that the greenhouse discovery might bring back frightening memories for her, and he promised to keep Dr. Ortiz involved. The adults could investigate the past without demanding that Sophie carry it alone.
Sophie looked toward the door and whispered, "She said the first paper was a lie somebody needed us to believe."
