Chapter 6 - My Mother Found Out She Had GrandchildrenMy mother learned about the twins from me.
I refused to let a gossip site do it first.
Emilia Moretti was seventy-one years old, five feet four inches tall, and capable of terrifying men twice her size without raising her voice.
I arrived at her house on a Sunday morning.
She took one look at me.
“Who died?”
“No one.”
“Then why do you look like that?”
“I have children.”
My mother stared at me.
“What?”
“Twins.”
She sat down.
I had never seen my mother sit because of shock.
“A boy and a girl.”
Her hand covered her mouth.
“They’re ten months old.”
Her eyes filled.
“Ten months?”
“Yes.”
“Claire?”
“Yes.”
The next question came like a blade.
“You knew?”
“No.”
Her expression changed.
I told her everything.
The pregnancy messages.
The hospital notifications.
The forged responses.
Claire coming to headquarters.
Celeste stopping her.
When I finished, my mother remained silent.
Then she slapped me.
Hard.
I accepted it.
“Good,” she said.
I touched my cheek.
“I assume that was for Celeste.”
“That was for you.”
“Fair.”
She stood.
“Celeste gets her own.”
“Please don’t.”
“Coward.”
“Mother.”
She turned away because she was crying.
“I could have had grandchildren for ten months.”
“I know.”
“I could have helped Claire.”
“I know.”
“You let that woman into your marriage.”
“I know.”
She turned back.
“Stop saying you know.”
I did.
Emilia wiped her eyes.
“Does Claire hate you?”
“Some days.”
“Smart girl.”
“She lets me see them.”
My mother’s face softened.
“Do they look like you?”
“Unfortunately.”
She laughed through her tears.
I showed her photographs only because Claire had given permission.
The first showed Noah asleep with his mouth open.
My mother touched the screen.
“That is your father.”
I swallowed.
The second showed Eleanor standing while holding Claire’s hands.
My mother’s eyes filled again.
“May I meet them?”
“I’ll ask.”
Claire said yes.
Two days later, I watched my mother stand outside Claire’s townhouse holding no gifts because Claire had specifically forbidden her from arriving with enough presents to fill a department store.
Emilia had compromised.
She brought two books.
Claire opened the door.
For several seconds, the women looked at each other.
Then my mother whispered, “I am so sorry.”
Claire’s face crumpled.
Emilia hugged her.
I looked away.
It was not my moment.
Inside, my mother met Noah first.
She cried.
Then Eleanor pulled her glasses off.
She cried harder.
For nearly an hour, there was something resembling peace.
Then my mother said something that changed the investigation.
“Why didn’t you answer my letter?”
Claire looked confused.
“What letter?”
My head turned.
“What letter?”
Emilia frowned.
“After you left Vincent.”
She looked embarrassed.
“I wrote to you.”
Claire shook her head.
“I never received anything.”
“I gave it to Celeste.”
The room went silent.
My mother looked at me.
“She told me she knew where Claire was staying.”
I felt cold.
“What was in the letter?”
“I apologized.”
My mother’s voice softened.
“I told Claire that whatever my idiot son had done, she would always be family to me.”
Claire lowered her eyes.
“I never got it.”
Emilia’s face hardened.
“She told me you returned it unopened.”
I stood.
“Marcus.”
Claire looked at me.
“You’re calling him now?”
“Yes.”
Within two hours, Marcus found a scanned copy of my mother’s letter in Celeste’s archive.
She had kept that too.
And there was more.
A voicemail.
Claire had left it fourteen months earlier.
Her voice filled my office.
Thin.
Exhausted.
“Vincent, they were born this morning. Noah and Eleanor. They’re early, but they’re stable. I’m going to stop calling after this. I tried. I need you to know that I tried.”
The recording ended.
Nobody moved.
Claire’s face went white.
“I forgot I left that.”
I stared at the phone.
She had called me after giving birth.
After seeing the gala photograph.
After believing I had rejected the pregnancy.
She had still called.
My mother began crying.
I could not.
I felt beyond tears.
Marcus’s voice came through the speaker.
“There’s also an outgoing voicemail from Celeste’s account twelve hours later.”
“Play it.”
A woman’s voice filled the room.
Not Celeste pretending to be me.
Celeste speaking as herself.
“Claire, Vincent has received your message. He does not intend to respond. I suggest you focus on your children and stop embarrassing yourself.”
Claire covered her mouth.
My mother whispered something in Italian that I had not heard since childhood.
I walked outside before I broke something.
Claire followed.
“Vincent.”
I turned.
“I should have destroyed her access the first time she crossed a boundary with you.”
“Yes.”
“I should have believed you when you said she was disrespecting you.”
“Yes.”
“I should have protected our marriage.”
“Yes.”
Each answer hurt.
I deserved every one.
Then Claire stepped closer.
“But she did this.”
I stared at her.
“This part,” Claire said. “The messages. The lies. The birth announcement. She did that.”
My throat tightened.
“I don’t want you to confuse accountability with taking responsibility for someone else’s choices.”
For the first time, Claire was separating my betrayal from Celeste’s sabotage.
Not excusing me.
Just naming the truth accurately.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
She nodded.
Then her expression hardened.
“Don’t make me regret defending you.”
“I won’t.”
Inside, Eleanor started laughing at something my mother was doing.
Claire turned toward the sound.
I followed.
May you like
And it occurred to me that my family was slowly rebuilding itself inside a townhouse I once would have considered too small.
It was the warmest room I had entered in years.
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