Chapter 3 - THE TORN CORNER OF WHITE CARDSTOCK
The second-floor family quarters were a stark contrast to the glittering opulence of the ballroom downstairs. Here, the ceilings were lower, the lighting was warm and soft, and the hallways were lined with framed photographs of Sophie when her mother was still alive.
I guided Sophie into her bedroom, closing the heavy oak door against the muffled strains of string quartet music drifting up from the party below.
“You okay, sweetie?” I signed gently, using my hands to frame the question with a soft expression.
Sophie sat down on the edge of her white canopy bed, her shoulders shaking slightly as she finally let the tears spill over. She pulled the folded piece of cardstock from her dress pocket and held it out to me. The paper was slightly crumpled from her tight grip, but the neat handwriting she had spent two hours practicing that afternoon was still legible.
Daddy, I'm happy when you're happy.
I hope Isabella makes you smile.
I miss Mommy, but I love our family.
And I hope there's always room for me.
“You worked so hard on this,” I whispered aloud while signing the words simultaneously. “Your dad would have loved reading it.”
Sophie signed back slowly, her little fingers trembling. She said I don't belong here anymore. When they get married next month, Isabella is sending me to boarding school in Switzerland.
My heart stopped.
Boarding school. In Switzerland. A nine-year-old child with significant hearing loss, sent thousands of miles away across an ocean, separated from her home, her memories of her mother, and the only parent she had left.
“Did your father say that?” I asked, kneeling in front of her.
Sophie shook her head fiercely. Daddy doesn't know. Isabella told me yesterday in the conservatory. She said big girls in high-society families don't live at home with their fathers.
A cold wave of fury washed over me, completely washing away any lingering fear of Isabella’s threats regarding my mother’s insurance. No job, no health plan, and no amount of high-society intimidation could justify breaking a little girl’s spirit like this. Isabella Marconi wasn't just a social climber; she was systematically erasing Sophie from Gabriel DeLuca’s life, piece by piece, while wrapping herself in the glamorous facade of a devoted stepmother.
“Listen to me,” I said, taking Sophie’s small hands in mine. “Your father loves you more than anything in this world. He might be busy, and he might not see everything Isabella does behind his back, but if he knew about this, he would stop it immediately.”
Sophie looked doubtful, her big brown eyes searching my face. Isabella is very smart. She always makes sure Daddy isn't looking when she says mean things.
“She’s smart, but she’s not invincible,” I replied softly, tucking a stray curl behind Sophie’s ear. “Now, let’s get you into your pajamas. I’ll read you a story, and then we’re going to figure out how to make sure your dad sees this card.”
While Sophie changed into her soft cotton pajamas, I walked over to the tall mahogany dresser to tidy up her books. That was when I noticed something unusual. Resting on top of the jewelry box was a small, antique silver music box that had belonged to Sophie’s mother. The lid was slightly ajar.
Curious, I stepped closer and peered inside.
Nested inside the velvet lining wasn't just the small clockwork mechanism. There was a stack of folded papers—letters, notes, and medical bills bearing Isabella’s signature, along with a printed itinerary for an exclusive Swiss residential academy dated six months prior, long before the engagement date had even been officially announced.
Isabella hadn't just decided on the boarding school yesterday. She had planned it from the very beginning.
Before I could pull the papers out to examine them closer, the bedroom door clicked open behind me.
May you like
I spun around. Gabriel DeLuca stood in the doorway, his black suit jacket over his arm, his dark tie loosened at the collar. His eyes swept over the room, resting first on Sophie, who was climbing into bed, and then on me standing beside her mother’s music box.
“Is everything alright up here?” Gabriel asked, his voice low and rich, carrying an undercurrent of tension that made the air in the room suddenly feel very heavy.
