Chapter 10 - Regina's Visit and the Second Key
One rainy evening, she came to the bakery.
Elena was upstairs.
Michael had taken Zach home.
I was alone behind the counter.
The bell above the door rang.
Regina stepped inside.
I froze.
She stopped several feet away.
“I’m not here to cause a scene.”
“I’ll call Julia.”
“You can.”
I reached for my phone.
Then Regina said, “Your father was going to leave me.”
My hand stopped.
“What?”
“Before he got sick.”
The bakery suddenly seemed too quiet.
Regina looked older than she had the night at Bellarosa.
Not frightening.
Tired.
“He thought we wanted different lives.”
I studied her.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you think I woke up one morning and decided to hate you.”
“I don’t think anything. I don’t know what to think.”
She nodded.
“That’s fair.”
I stayed behind the counter.
Distance helped.
“Did you take my inheritance?”
Her face tightened.
“I told Angelo you didn’t want the building.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“I believed the property should have been sold.”
“It wasn’t yours.”
“I spent years helping your father save it.”
“That still doesn’t make it yours.”
“No.”
The admission surprised me.
Regina looked toward the rain-streaked window.
“After Daniel died, everything collapsed at once. Bills. Legal fees. The house mortgage. His medical expenses. I was terrified.”
“So you signed my name?”
“I used documents you had signed.”
My stomach dropped.
“Without telling me.”
“Yes.”
The word was barely audible.
“Why?”
“I told myself I was simplifying things.”
“For yourself.”
“Yes.”
There was no excuse attached.
No demand that I understand.
That made my anger harder to hold in one clean shape.
“And Tony?”
Regina looked ashamed.
“The gambling started later.”
“Why?”
“I kept thinking one good night could repair every bad decision.”
“That sounds ridiculous.”
“It was.”
“Then you tried to use me to cover it.”
She looked directly at me.
“Yes.”
I swallowed.
I had imagined this conversation countless times.
In every version, I screamed.
She denied.
I exposed every lie.
Instead, I felt exhausted.
“I’m not going back with you.”
“I know.”
“You don’t get to control my money.”
“I know.”
“You don’t get to tell anyone I owe your debts.”
“I know.”
Tears filled her eyes.
She did not let them fall.
“I came because Julia sent me copies of Daniel’s letters.”
My pulse jumped.
“She shouldn’t have.”
“She sent only the one concerning the trust. I asked.”
Regina reached into her purse.
My body tensed.
She withdrew an envelope.
“That isn’t the only thing Daniel left.”
She placed it on the counter.
“What is it?”
“A key.”
“To what?”
“A box at First Brooklyn Savings.”
I stared at her.
“Why do you have it?”
“He gave it to me before the hospital.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I was angry.”
Her honesty felt almost brutal in its simplicity.
“At him?”
“At everyone.”
She looked down.
“He had spent months preparing for you. Your future. Your choices. Your security. And I was his wife, but I felt like a temporary person in his plans.”
I said nothing.
“It was selfish.”
“Yes.”
“I know.”
She pushed the envelope closer.
“I kept the key. I never opened the box because only your name was authorized.”
“What’s inside?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why give it to me now?”
Regina’s mouth trembled.
“Because I am tired of becoming someone Daniel would not recognize.”
The bell above the bakery door rang again.
Michael entered, closing an umbrella behind him.
He saw Regina.
His posture changed.
Not threatening.
Alert.
I raised one hand.
“It’s okay.”
He remained near the door.
Regina glanced at him, then at me.
“I’ll sign whatever Julia needs to correct the trust records.”
I stared.
“You’re giving up your claim?”
“It was never mine.”
“And Tony’s debt?”
“I’ve already spoken to an attorney about bankruptcy.”
“What about Tony?”
“The debt is being handled legally.”
I did not ask details.
I did not want my life tied to those people anymore.
Regina moved toward the door.
“Aurora.”
I looked at her.
“I am sorry.”
I did not forgive her.
Not then.
Maybe forgiveness was not supposed to arrive simply because someone finally told the truth.
But I heard my father’s words.
Forgive when you can.
He had not written immediately.
He had written when you can.
“I heard you,” I said.
Regina nodded.
For that evening, it was enough.
After she left, Michael walked toward the counter.
“You okay?”
“No.”
He waited.
Then I added, “But maybe eventually.”
His gaze fell to the envelope.
“What did she leave?”
I opened it.
A small brass key slid into my palm.
Attached was a bank tag.
Box 214.
Michael frowned.
“I know that bank.”
“Of course you do.”
“My family has accounts there.”
May you like
“You have accounts everywhere.”
“Occupational hazard.”
