His Collateral

Chapter 29

I'm gently brought back to the present feeling a mix of emotions swirling inside me. With a quiet sigh, I slowly make my way towards the kitchen, my footsteps echoing through the silent house.

As I enter the kitchen, I'm greeted by the familiar sight of the old marble table, the same one where we shared countless meals and laughter. My gaze wandered to the wooden chair where my father used to sit, his presence still palpable in the air. The kitchen, once the heart of our home, now felt like a time capsule.
I approached the table, running my fingers over the surface, remembering the time Mom and I baked chocolate chip muffins together.

"Mommy, look!" I exclaimed, my eyes shining with excitement, as I finished sprinkling chocolate chips all over the muffin dough. Mom chuckled and came closer, her warm smile encouraging.

"Good job, Bella!" she said, helping me slide the muffin tray into the oven. She set the timer and turned to me, her eyes sparkling with playfulness.

"You know, Bella, I think you're going to be an amazing chef one day!" she said, her voice full of pride.

Before I could respond, she swiftly smeared a streak of flour across my cheek, leaving a white handprint. I giggled, feeling the coolness of the flour on my skin.

"Mommy, you're messy!" I laughed, trying to wipe off the flour with my sleeve.

She laughed, pulling me into a warm hug. "That's what happens when you bake, sweetie. You get a little messy, but it's always worth it!"
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As I emerged from the flashback, tears streamed down my face. I couldn't hold them back any longer. I wiped my eyes, and tried to compose myself, but the emotions lingered.
I continued my journey through the house, my footsteps echoing off the walls. Each step leading me to even more memories. I stopped in front of my parents' bedroom door, the same one I used to sneak in through every night to play with them before bed, and knock on every morning, eager to start the day.

I pushed it open slowly, and another wave of memories washed over me. The room was frozen in time, just as they left it. The bed, still made with the same comforter, seemed to wait for their return. The dresser, with its familiar scratches, held the same family photos, smiling at me.
I ran my hands over the sheets, the softness and familiarity evoked a sense of comfort, like a warm embrace. I then walked over to the dresser, my eyes drawn to the family photo. I gazed at the smiling faces taking in every detail, every expression, every moment captured in that instant.

Just when it felt like I've had my fill of the room, I turned to leave, but my eyes caught something out of the corner of my eye. A small mess of papers just by the wardrobe.
As I approach the mess, a sense of disarray hits me. It was clear that someone had rummaged through the contents of the wardrobe, leaving a trail of scattered papers and belongings in their wake. My mind raced with thoughts of who could have done it, and my uncle's face immediately came to mind. His and auntie Theresa's behavior made them the prime suspect.

I bent down to examine the mess more closely, and my eyes landed on a small leather-bound book, and a few scattered photographs, some torn and crumpled. I recognized a few of them as family photos, but others were unfamiliar. There are also scraps of paper with handwritten notes, some with names and addresses.
As I continued to sift through the mess, my eyes landed on a particular picture. I picked it up and a warm smile crossed my face seeing it was a picture with my mom. My gaze lingered on the picture for a minute too long and a shadow of confusion crossed my mind.

Just mom?

I never remembered having a picnic with just my mother. We always went out as a family, and we always took complete pictures, with no one missing. That's what made this picture so odd. My dad was missing? Why wasn't he in the picture with us?
But there was something even more odd and it was the dress I was wearing. It looked familiar, yet different. I looked at the faces once more. My mother's eyes held a hint of sadness and it seemed she was holding me a little too tightly.
Staring at the picture, I felt a disconnection between the memory in the photo and my own recollection. It was all unfamiliar.

I was still lost in thought, staring at the picture, when my phone suddenly rang, breaking the silence. I looked at the caller ID and saw Christy's name flashing on the screen.  I glanced at at the screen to check the time and my eyes widened in surprise.

No wonder she called. It's pretty late! I had lost track of time entirely.

I answered the call.

"Hello Bella. Where are you? We were starting to get worried, it's getting late." She asked, her voice laced with concern.

"I'm sorry, I...I lost track of time."

"Do you need Marco to come pick you up?" She asked

"No it's fine. I'll find my way." I replied.

"Alright, be safe." She said before hanging up.

I put my phone back in my purse, together with the picture and zipped it shut. With a deep breath, I stood up and closed the door behind me, leaving the old house behind. Stepping out into the cool night air, I hailed a taxi on the street and gave the driver my address. As the taxi navigated through the lonely streets, the silence was almost palpable. My mind wandered back to the events of the day, like a puzzle trying to piece together the fragments of my life. The courtroom drama, Alessandro's arrest, and the long overdue retrieval of my inheritance - it was all so overwhelming.
A solitary tear pricked at the corner of my eye, threatening to escape, but I fought to keep it in check. I didn't want to cry anymore; I was exhausted from the emotional rollercoaster. Instead, I gazed out the window, watching the city lights blur together as we drove, trying to process the whirlwind of emotions and events that had consumed my day. The taxi's hum and the darkness outside seemed to envelop me in a cocoon of solitude, allowing me to momentarily escape the pain that had become my life.

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