Chapter 7 - The Mother Who ChoseThe photograph stayed on my phone screen.
A hospital room.
Two newborn babies.
My mother standing beside them.
Looking directly at the camera.
As if she knew someone would find it one day.
As if she had been waiting.
I stared at her face.
A face I had remembered my entire life.
The woman who sang when she cooked.
The woman who held my hand during thunderstorms.
The woman who cried when I left for college.
The woman who told me, again and again, that I was the greatest gift she had ever received.
Now I wondered whether those memories belonged to me.
Or whether they belonged to someone else.
Marco stood across from me.
Watching.
Waiting.
“You didn’t know,” he said.
I looked up.
“What?”
“You didn’t know.”
His voice was quieter now.
“You really believe you’re the only one who was lied to.”
I hated that he sounded like he understood me.
Because I didn't want understanding.
I wanted someone to blame.
“You spent your whole life knowing I existed.”
Marco looked away.
“No.”
“Then what?”
“I spent my whole life knowing someone had taken something from me.”
The words landed harder than anger.
“Did you hate me?”
He was silent.
Then:
“Yes.”
My chest tightened.
“But not anymore.”
“Why?”
“Because I met you.”
That answer confused me.
“You met me five minutes ago.”
He gave a small, sad smile.
“No.”
He looked at Evelyn.
“I watched you for years.”
A cold feeling moved through me.
“What?”
Marco didn’t answer.
My father did.
“He was underground.”
My eyes moved to him.
“What does that mean?”
My father looked exhausted.
“It means Alessandro kept him close.”
“Close?”
“He wasn’t imprisoned like Evelyn.”
My father swallowed.
“He was trained.”
Nobody spoke.
Marco’s jaw tightened.
“Don’t make it sound better than it was.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
My father looked at him.
“I’m trying to explain.”
“No.”
Marco stepped forward.
“You’re trying to make yourself feel less guilty.”
The words hit.
My father didn’t argue.
That told me everything.
I looked at Alessandro.
“You did this to both of us.”
My grandfather smiled.
“I gave you purpose.”
“You destroyed our lives.”
“No.”
He looked almost offended.
“I gave you lives worth having.”
I laughed.
A real laugh this time.
Because the alternative was screaming.
“You hear yourself, right?”
Alessandro tilted his head.
“You think ordinary people matter because they live ordinary lives.”
He pointed at me.
“But you were never ordinary.”
I stepped closer.
“Neither was Marco.”
“No.”
His eyes moved between us.
“He was a failure.”
Marco’s face hardened.
“You always said that.”
“And I was right.”
Before I realized what I was doing, I moved toward Alessandro.
The officers immediately blocked me.
But Marco stopped too.
Not because he wanted to protect my grandfather.
Because he wanted to stop me.
“Don’t.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because that’s what he wants.”
“What?”
“He wants us angry.”
Marco looked at Alessandro.
“He spent years making us hate each other.”
My grandfather smiled.
“Finally.”
Marco ignored him.
“He knew if we ever met, we would fight over the same question.”
“What question?”
Marco looked at me.
“Which one of us was real.”
The words cut deep.
Because I had been thinking it.
All night.
My name.
My memories.
My childhood.
My family.
Everything.
Marco took a breath.
“The truth is…”
He looked at me.
“We both are.”
The room went quiet.
For the first time, I saw something different in him.
Not anger.
Not resentment.
Pain.
The same pain I felt.
Two people who had spent their entire lives missing something they couldn't name.
My father slowly approached.
“I need to tell you both something.”
Nobody moved.
He looked at Marco.
Then me.
“Your mother knew.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“She knew about the twins.”
Marco’s expression changed.
“You said she didn’t.”
“I was wrong.”
“You lied.”
“Yes.”
My father looked down.
“I lied because I was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
“Losing both of you.”
Marco laughed bitterly.
“You lost us anyway.”
My father accepted the words.
“I know.”
He took a shaky breath.
“Your grandfather gave your mother a choice.”
My stomach tightened.
“What choice?”
My father looked at me.
“She could expose him.”
“Why didn’t she?”
“Because he threatened you.”
Both me and Marco went still.
“He told her if she went to the police, he would disappear with one of you forever.”
“One?”
My father nodded.
“He said he could only guarantee one child’s safety.”
I felt sick.
“And she chose.”
“Yes.”
“Which one?”
Nobody answered.
I looked at my father.
“Which one did she choose?”
He looked at me.
Then at Marco.
“She chose both.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“She tried to save both of you.”
My grandfather laughed.
A quiet, cruel laugh.
“She failed.”
Everyone turned.
Alessandro looked almost pleased.
“Your mother was always too emotional.”
Marco stared at him.
“What did you do?”
My grandfather smiled.
“I tested her.”
The room became colder.
“You made her choose.”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“She chose the boy who was weaker.”
My body froze.
Marco looked at me.
“What?”
Alessandro continued.
“She believed Raffaele needed protection.”
I couldn’t breathe.
My grandfather looked directly at me.
“She thought you were fragile.”
Marco’s face changed.
“And me?”
“She believed you were strong enough to survive.”
The silence afterward was unbearable.
Marco looked away.
All his life.
All the anger.
All the hatred.
And the reason behind it was not that he had been unwanted.
It was that someone had believed he could endure.
My father spoke softly.
“She loved you both.”
Marco shook his head.
“No.”
“She did.”
“No.”
His voice cracked.
“She chose him.”
I looked at Marco.
For the first time, I saw the child inside him.
The child who had waited.
The child who had wondered why nobody came.
The child who had decided he must not have mattered.
I walked toward him.
He tensed.
“I don’t know what to say.”
He looked at me.
“Neither do I.”
“I'm sorry.”
His expression changed.
Not because the words fixed anything.
Because they were honest.
“I know.”
Then a loud crash came from downstairs.
Everyone turned.
An officer ran into the room.
“Mr. Moretti.”
“What?”
His face was pale.
“We found something in the basement.”
“What?”
He looked at Alessandro.
Then at my father.
“There is another room.”
My stomach dropped.
Another room.
Of course.
This house always had another secret.
“What’s inside?”
The officer hesitated.
“Files.”
“About what?”
He looked at me.
“About you.”
My fingers went cold.
“Me?”
He nodded.
“Both of you.”
Marco stepped forward.
“What kind of files?”
The officer swallowed.
“Medical records.”
My grandfather smiled.
“No.”
Everyone looked at him.
For the first time, he sounded worried.
“No one was supposed to find that room.”
My father stared at him.
“What did you hide?”
Alessandro said nothing.
That silence was an answer.
We followed the officers downstairs.
The basement was beneath the oldest part of the house.
Older than the rooms we knew.
Older than the renovations.
Older than the family portraits.
A hidden metal door had been uncovered behind a wall.
Inside was a small room.
No furniture.
No decorations.
Only shelves.
Hundreds of folders.
Each one labeled with dates.
Names.
Numbers.
My father picked up the first folder.
His face changed.
“What?”
He turned it around.
I read the label.
MORETTI FAMILY PROJECT
Then below:
FINAL SUBJECTS: A-01 / A-02
I looked at Marco.
He looked at me.
Two brothers.
Two files.
Two lives.
The officer opened another folder.
Then stopped.
“Sir…”
“What?”
He held up a document.
“This one is different.”
I took it.
At the top was a name.
Not mine.
Not Marco’s.
A third name.
A name I had never heard before.
But beneath it were two words that made my blood freeze.
ORIGINAL SUBJECT.
And under that:
The first child was never lost.
Behind me, my grandfather whispered:
“No.”
May you like
For the first time in my life…
I heard fear in his voice.