THE LAST MORETTI WIFE

Part 3 — The Woman Who Disappeared

Ten days passed.

Vincent Moretti barely noticed.

His mornings were filled with business meetings, his afternoons with negotiations, and his evenings with Sofia.

But something had changed.

Elena wasn’t calling.

She wasn’t sending messages.

She wasn’t asking for money.

She wasn’t even trying to contact his mother.

At first, he enjoyed the silence.

Then it began to bother him.

On the eleventh day, he called his assistant.

“Find Elena.”

“Sir, we’ve been trying.”

Vincent looked up.

“What do you mean?”

See more Stories :

“Her phone has been switched off. Her credit cards haven’t been used. Her driver says he dropped her at a hotel outside Boston, but she checked out two days later.”

“Then find the hotel.”

“We already did. She left without providing a forwarding address.”

Vincent’s expression darkened.

“Do I have to do everything myself?”

He ended the call.

That evening, he visited the family chapel.

For the first time since Noah’s funeral, he stood in front of his son’s small photograph.

He stared at it for a long time.

Then he noticed something.

The flowers were gone.

The little wooden toy Noah had loved was missing.

Even the small blanket Elena used to bring during her visits had disappeared.

He turned toward the housekeeper.

“Where are Noah’s things?”

The elderly woman lowered her eyes.

“Mrs. Carter took them, sir.”

“Mrs. Carter?”

“Your former wife.”

Vincent frowned.

“Don’t call her that. She’s still my son’s mother.”

The housekeeper looked at him sadly.

“Yes, sir. That’s why she took him with her.”

Vincent had no answer.

Three days later, Sofia entered his office carrying a folder.

“Vincent, I need you to sign these documents.”

He glanced at them.

“What are they?”

“Some paperwork for the charity foundation.”

He opened the folder.

Then he stopped.

A familiar name appeared on the first page.

Elena Carter — Principal Beneficiary.

“What is this?”

Sofia quickly reached for the folder.

“Nothing important. Just an old account.”

Vincent pulled it away.

“Why is Elena’s name here?”

Sofia hesitated.

“Your mother probably knows more about it.”

He immediately called Evelyn.

“Mother, come to my office.”

Twenty minutes later, Evelyn arrived.

Vincent placed the documents in front of her.

“Explain.”

She looked at the papers, then at her son.

“Your grandfather established a private trust years ago. It was intended for Elena’s parents because they died protecting our family.”

Vincent frowned.

“How much?”

“Approximately eighty million dollars, including accumulated investments.”

He stared at her.

“Eighty million?”

“Yes.”

“And Elena never told me?”

Evelyn’s expression turned cold.

“She was never obligated to tell you. The trust was hers long before she became your wife.”

Vincent leaned back.

For years, he had believed Elena depended entirely on him.

Now he realized he barely knew the woman he had married.

“Where is she?”

Evelyn remained silent.

“Mother!”

“She asked me not to tell you.”

Vincent stood.

“She’s my son’s mother!”

Evelyn looked directly at him.

“And you’re the father who wasn’t there when he died.”

The words landed heavily.

Vincent’s face hardened.

“Don’t lecture me.”

“I’m not lecturing you. I’m reminding you of something you seem determined to forget.”

She turned toward the door.

Before leaving, she stopped.

“Vincent, Elena is dying.”

His entire body went still.

“What?”

“Terminal brain cancer. She has very little time left.”

For several seconds, he couldn’t speak.

Then he shook his head.

“That’s impossible.”

“I saw her medical records myself.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

Evelyn looked at him with quiet disappointment.

“Because she knew you wouldn’t care.”

Vincent grabbed his phone.

“Get the car ready.”

“Where are you going?”

“To find my wife.”

Evelyn closed her eyes.

“She’s not your wife anymore.”

Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away, I was sitting beneath a large oak tree beside a quiet lake.

My hair had begun falling out.

Walking had become difficult, and sometimes I couldn’t remember simple things.

But that morning, the sun was shining.

I had placed Noah’s photograph beside me and brought his favorite toy dinosaur.

“Look, sweetheart,” I whispered. “The water is so beautiful.”

My phone rang.

It was an unknown number.

I almost ignored it.

Then I answered.

“Hello?”

“Elena.”

I recognized the voice immediately.

Vincent.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then he said something I never expected.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were dying?”

I looked at the lake.

“Would it have changed anything?”

“Of course it would!”

I gave a faint smile.

“Vincent, you couldn’t find time to visit your dying son. What makes you think you’d find time for me?”

He went silent.

Then his voice broke slightly.

“Where are you? I’m coming to get you.”

“No.”

“Elena, please.”

That word sounded strange coming from him.

For five years, I had begged him to come home.

Now he was begging me to tell him where I was.

I gently touched Noah’s photograph.

“There’s something you need to hear, Vincent. Noah left you a message.”

“What message?”

“His final message.”

I heard him inhale sharply.

“Send it to me.”

“I will. But don’t call me afterward.”

“Elena—”

I ended the call.

Then I sent him the video.

A few seconds later, my phone began ringing again.

I didn’t answer.

Across the country, Vincent Moretti watched his son’s final message.

And for the first time in his life, the most powerful man in New York fell to his knees.

Because Noah’s final question had finally reached him.

“Daddy, if you loved me, why didn’t you come?”

Vincent watched the video again.

And again.

Then he called his assistant.

“Find Elena. I don’t care what it costs. Find her!”

But there was one more thing he didn’t know.

I had already written my final letter.

And inside that letter was the truth about the night Noah died—the truth that would destroy everything Vincent believed about his family.

Because Noah hadn’t been alone when he needed his father most.