Chapter 11 - THE MOTHER WHO FOUND HER DAUGHTERS
Sophia Romano had spent almost a year searching for her birth family.
She'd discovered inconsistencies in her adoption records while applying for a professional license.
Her original name appeared in an archived medical file.
Sophia Julia Bellini.
The same surname as mine.
At first, she thought it was a clerical mistake.
Then she found the photograph.
Two little girls.
Matching bracelets.
One wearing a blue dress.
The other yellow.
She contacted a private investigator.
The investigator identified Julia Bell.
But Grandma died before Sophia could reach her.
For three weeks, Sophia believed she'd missed her only chance to find her family.
Then she heard about the investigation involving the Russo Foundation.
My name appeared in a legal notice.
Sarah Bellini.
And she knew.
I listened as my sister explained everything.
For the first time in my life, I heard my own voice telling a story I'd never known.
We arranged an independent DNA comparison.
The results confirmed we were identical twins.
I stared at the report.
Then began laughing through tears.
“I have a sister.”
Vincent smiled.
“You do.”
I looked toward him.
For a moment, I forgot everything else.
The danger.
The stolen money.
Gabriel Santoro.
I had a sister.
And she'd been looking for me.
We met the following week in a quiet conference room.
Sophia entered wearing a navy coat.
She stopped when she saw me.
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
Then she smiled shakily.
“Wow.”
I laughed.
“That's exactly what I was thinking.”
We crossed the room.
And hugged.
Twenty-six years of separation collapsed into one impossible moment.
She smelled like lavender.
Her hair was the same shade as mine.
Even her hands looked familiar.
“I thought I was alone,” she whispered.
I held her tighter.
“Me too.”
Later, Sophia told me about our mother.
Isabella had contacted her six months earlier.
She provided childhood photographs and documents.
But she refused to meet in person.
Sophia believed she was afraid someone would follow her.
“Where is she now?” I asked.
Sophia looked down.
“She sent me an address.”
My heart hammered.
“Where?”
“A small town in Vermont.”
I stared.
“She's there?”
“I don't know if she still is.”
We contacted Isabella through her attorney and an independent advocate.
Two days later, she agreed to meet us.
I barely slept.
When I entered the quiet Vermont cottage, a woman stood beside the window.
Dark hair streaked with silver.
Gray eyes.
A blue scarf.
She turned.
Then covered her mouth.
“Sarah?”
I began crying.
“Mom?”
She crossed the room.
Wrapped her arms around me.
And held me like she'd been waiting twenty-three years.
“My beautiful girl.”
Sophia stepped forward.
Isabella reached for her too.
“My daughters.”
For a long time, the three of us simply held each other.
Then Isabella whispered:
“I'm sorry I couldn't keep you together.”
I shook my head.
“We're here now.”
She cried harder.
Later, when we finally sat down, I asked the question that had haunted me since childhood.
“Who killed Papa?”
Isabella's expression changed.
She looked toward Vincent.
Then whispered:
“Your father wasn't killed because he found the money.”
May you like
I stopped breathing.
“He was killed because he discovered who was buying the children.”
