Chapter 6 - What Michael Wanted Him to Know
Sofia found Anthony in the sunflower garden.
Spring had not arrived yet, but the snow was melting.
Dark earth showed between patches of white.
Emma was inside with Mrs. Parker, attempting to convince the cook that pancakes qualified as dinner.
Anthony stood beside the stone where Emma had placed Michael’s photograph.
Sofia approached holding the envelope.
“Anthony.”
He turned.
Her expression made him tense.
“What happened?”
“This came from Michael’s attorney.”
She handed it to him.
On the front:
FOR ANTHONY—ABOUT EMMA.
Anthony looked at Sofia.
“Did you read it?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“It’s addressed to you.”
He opened it.
Michael’s handwriting filled two pages.
Anthony,
If you’re reading this, then somehow Sofia found her way to you. I hope that means I failed only halfway.
Anthony paused.
Sofia stood beside him.
He continued.
You probably don’t remember me well. That’s fine. Men like you meet thousands of people. But I remember you.
More importantly, I remember your daughter.
Claire once found me sitting in this garden after Elena asked me to review some accounts. Claire asked why I looked sad.
I told her I was worried because sometimes telling the truth makes people angry.
She told me something I never forgot.
“My daddy gets angry, but he protects people.”
Anthony’s vision blurred.
He read on.
I hope she was right.
If I die, Emma will grow up without a father.
I hate writing that sentence.
I don’t expect you to replace me. Nobody can.
I only ask this: if Sofia reaches you, believe her. Help her long enough to stand again. And if Emma ever wanders into your life, please don’t make her afraid of you.
She talks too much when she’s nervous. She hates peas. She thinks every broken object can be repaired with tape. She believes flowers listen when you talk to them.
Please let her stay that way.
The letter shook in Anthony’s hands.
There was one final paragraph.
I heard about Claire.
I’m sorry.
There are no words for that kind of loss.
But if you ever believe the part of you capable of loving someone died with her, you’re wrong.
Love doesn’t disappear because the person carrying it is gone.
Sometimes it just waits until someone needs it again.
—Michael Romano
Anthony lowered the letter.
For a long time, neither he nor Sofia spoke.
Then Sofia whispered, “He knew.”
Anthony looked at her.
“He knew what?”
“That he might die.”
Her voice broke.
“And he was still worrying about whether Emma ate peas.”
Anthony gave a wet laugh.
Sofia started crying.
Anthony did something he would never have done four months earlier.
He pulled her into his arms.
She resisted for half a second.
Then collapsed against him.
They stood in the dead sunflower garden holding each other while snow melted around their shoes.
No romance.
No promises.
Just two people who had lost spouses and were tired of pretending grief could be carried alone.
Eventually Sofia stepped back.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
She wiped her face.
“I should start looking for another job.”
Anthony frowned.
“Why?”
“The investigation is over.”
“That has nothing to do with your job.”
“It changes everything.”
“How?”
Sofia looked toward the mansion.
“I came here under false pretenses. I searched your house.”
“You were trying to find evidence your husband died protecting.”
“I lied to you.”
Anthony almost smiled.
“Sofia, half the people I know lie to me before breakfast.”
“That isn’t funny.”
“A little.”
She shook her head.
Then her expression became serious.
“I don’t want charity.”
“I know.”
“I want Emma to see me stand on my own.”
Anthony folded Michael’s letter.
“Then stand.”
She looked at him.
“But you don’t have to leave.”
Over the following weeks, Sofia made changes.
She stopped working as a housekeeper.
Not because Anthony dismissed her.
Because Rebecca Shaw helped connect her with an accounting firm willing to train administrative staff, and Sofia accepted.
Anthony arranged nothing.
Sofia made him promise.
She wanted the job herself.
She earned it.
Meanwhile, Anthony began changing his own life.
He cooperated fully with authorities.
He sold businesses tied to men and practices he no longer wanted around him.
He reorganized his legitimate holdings.
Vincent watched the transformation with suspicion.
One afternoon he asked, “What are you planning?”
Anthony looked up from a contract.
“A future.”
“That sounds unhealthy.”
Anthony laughed.
Vincent stared.
“You’re doing that a lot lately.”
“Doing what?”
“Laughing.”
“Complain again and I’ll fire you.”
“There he is.”
For Emma, the mansion changed too.
The kitchen wing was no longer her boundary.
She explored hallways.
She learned which staircase echoed loudest.
She discovered the library.
And eventually, with Anthony’s permission, she entered Claire’s room whenever she wanted.
The room was restored, but not as a museum.
Anthony packed some of Claire’s belongings into preservation boxes.
He donated toys to a children’s shelter.
He kept the yellow boots.
The pink sweater was gone forever.
He cried when he accepted that.
Then something surprising happened.
He survived.
One Saturday morning, Emma entered his office carrying a flowerpot.
A tiny green shoot rose from the soil.
Anthony stared.
“What is that?”
“A sunflower.”
“It’s February.”
“Mrs. Parker helped.”
“That explains the miracle.”
Emma placed it on his desk.
“It’s Claire’s.”
Anthony looked at her.
“You grew it for Claire?”
“And Daddy.”
She thought.
“And your wife.”
“Elena.”
“And Elena.”
Anthony touched one small leaf.
Emma climbed into the chair opposite him.
“Are you still scary?”
“Yes.”
She nodded.
“Good.”
Anthony raised an eyebrow.
“Why is that good?”
“Daddy said good scary.”
Anthony smiled.
Months passed.
Daniel Mercer eventually entered a guilty plea on several federal charges after evidence from Rebecca, Michael’s recordings, financial records, and Keane’s cooperation left little room for escape.
The truth about Elena and Claire became public.
Anthony expected closure.
It did not come.
Instead came something quieter.
Certainty.
He finally knew what happened.
The unanswered questions that had poisoned him for three years were gone.
Grief remained.
But grief without mystery was different.
It could be mourned.
On the first warm morning of spring, Anthony ordered gardeners to clear the sunflower beds.
Emma discovered them working and ran inside horrified.
“Mr. Moretti!”
Anthony came downstairs.
“They’re taking Claire’s flowers!”
“They’re taking the dead ones.”
Emma stared.
“You said nobody touches them.”
“I changed my mind.”
“Why?”
Anthony crouched.
“Because we’re planting new ones.”
Emma’s entire face brightened.
“All of them?”
“All of them.”
“Can Mommy help?”
“If she wants.”
“Can Daisy?”
Anthony considered.
“Daisy doesn’t have hands.”
Emma looked offended.
“She supervises.”
“Then absolutely.”
That weekend, they planted sunflowers.
Sofia.
Emma.
Anthony.
Mrs. Parker.
Vincent, despite insisting repeatedly that gardening was not included in his employment agreement.
Anthony planted one row for Elena.
One for Claire.
Sofia planted one for Michael.
Emma ignored the rows and planted seeds wherever she pleased.
“Those won’t be straight,” Anthony said.
“Flowers don’t care.”
He could not argue.
By June, the garden exploded with yellow.
For the first time in years, the estate looked alive.
Then Sofia received an offer.
A company in Boston wanted her.
Better salary.
Benefits.
Housing assistance.
A new beginning.
She sat across from Anthony in his office.
“I think I should take it.”
The words hit him harder than expected.
He looked toward the sunflower outside his window.
“When?”
“Next month.”
Anthony nodded.
“That’s a good opportunity.”
“It is.”
“You should take it.”
Sofia studied him.
“That’s all?”
“What do you want me to say?”
She looked disappointed, though Anthony could not understand why.
“Nothing.”
She stood.
Anthony remained behind his desk.
Sofia reached the door.
Then stopped.
“Emma is going to be heartbroken.”
Anthony looked down.
“So am I.”
Sofia turned.
Neither spoke.
That evening, Emma learned.
She cried.
Not dramatically.
Quietly.
The way children cry when they realize adults cannot always fix everything.
“Why can’t we stay?”
Sofia held her.
“Because Mommy got a good job.”
“But you have a job.”
“This is better.”
Emma looked at Anthony.
“Tell her no.”
Anthony’s chest hurt.
“I can’t.”
“You’re the boss.”
“Not of your mommy.”
Emma crossed her arms.
“I don’t like Boston.”
“You’ve never been there.”
“I already don’t like it.”
Anthony nearly smiled.
But Emma’s next words erased it.
“Who will water Claire’s flowers?”
Anthony crouched.
“I will.”
“You forget.”
“I won’t.”
“You forgot to eat lunch yesterday.”
“That’s different.”
Emma stared at him.
Then she removed something from her pocket.
Michael’s faded photograph.
She handed it to Anthony.
“Daddy can remind you.”
Anthony looked at the photograph.
“No, sweetheart.”
He returned it.
“Your daddy stays with you.”
Emma hugged him.
And Anthony realized that after years of believing he had nothing left to lose, he had somehow built a family without noticing.
Now that family was leaving.
The night before Sofia planned to sign the Boston contract, she found Anthony alone in the sunflower garden.
“You could ask us to stay,” she said.
Anthony looked at her.
“I won’t ask you to give up your future.”
Sofia stepped closer.
“What if my future isn’t in Boston?”
Anthony stopped breathing.
She smiled faintly.
“You’re very brave when people are afraid of you.”
He almost laughed.
“But when you’re afraid…”
She touched his hand.
“…you hide.”
Anthony looked down at their hands.
Then back at her.
“What do you want, Sofia?”
Her answer was quiet.
“I want you to stop deciding for me.”
And suddenly Anthony understood.
The final choice was not his to make alone.
May you like
For the first time since Elena died, Anthony Moretti had to decide whether he was brave enough not merely to protect love—but to accept it.
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