Chapter 12
Lucinda was released while the divorce case moved forward.
The protective order kept her away from me and the house, but she could request supervised visits with Harper.
Harper refused.
Lucinda did not accept refusal.
She sent letters.
Flowers.
Old photographs.
A silver bracelet Harper had wanted when she was eight.
Then she sent guilt.
You are my daughter.
You owe me.
I gave up everything for you.
Harper burned the letters in the fireplace.
My father watched from the doorway but did not stop her.
One letter came for me.
No return address.
I opened it before thinking.
Inside was a photograph of my mother.
A private one.
Mom sitting at our old garden table, laughing with her hair loose.
Across the bottom, Lucinda had written one sentence.
Dead women should stay dead.
My hands went numb.
I showed my father.
He did not speak for a long time.
Then he took the photograph and walked into his study.
Dominic arrived an hour later.
So did the police.
The letter violated the order.
But it was more than that.
“How did she get this?” I asked.
My father looked ill.
“The photograph came from my private archive.”
“Meaning?”
“Someone in this house gave it to her.”
The betrayal moved through the rooms like smoke.
Staff were questioned.
Security logs checked.
Cameras reviewed.
By evening, we had the answer.
Gina, Lucinda’s former personal maid, had entered the archive using an old key and mailed the photograph.
She cried when confronted.
“Mrs. De Luca said she would ruin my son’s job,” she said.
I believed her.
That was Lucinda’s talent.
She turned fear into hands.
My father did not fire Gina immediately.
He gave her a choice.
Tell the truth in court.
Or leave.
Gina chose the truth.
That night, I placed my mother’s photograph beside Harper’s painting.
Dead women should stay dead.
I stared at Lucinda’s words.
Then I whispered, “No.”
The next morning, I told Mrs. Bell I would play the charity concert.
For Mom.
May you like
For me.
For every woman Lucinda tried to erase.
