He Chose Another Heir Now He Wants Me Back Chapter 60
Before winter set in, Ray was admitted to the hospital.
The cancer had spread fast. He refused aggressive treatment, asking only for a room with a view of the river.
Nora came every day after school for two hours. She didn’t call him Dad, and he didn’t press her. Sometimes they talked. Sometimes they just shelled chestnuts together in silence.
My mother recovered well enough to walk down the hall on her own. The first time she went to see Ray, she stood outside his room for a long time.
“You still won’t walk through the De Luca family’s door,” she said.
Ray laughed from his bed.
“That door’s too heavy. I couldn’t push it open when I was young. I certainly can’t now that I’m old.”
“Elena did.”
“She’s stronger than both of us.”
I stood outside and didn’t go in.
That was their story. I didn’t need to know the name of every debt to let it end.
Ray passed away on the day of the first snowfall.
There was no dramatic pursuit, no shocking secret revealed after twelve years. Just a sick man, his breathing stopping while his daughter held his hand.
The funeral was held by the river.
Nora wore a black coat and slipped the safe-deposit key into her pocket. She didn’t open the box Ray had left for her, nor did she hand it over to any family.
“I’ll look when I’m ready,” she said.
“Okay.”
Salvatore’s car was parked a short distance away.
He didn’t get out, only had someone bring over a bag of chestnuts. Nora glanced at it once and didn’t take it.
The car remained in the snow for ten minutes, then finally drove away.
Ray’s old debts did not land on his child.
After the funeral, the Rossi family formally transferred the internal investigation files. Ophelia did not contest the facts.
She lost Rossi protection and could no longer represent the De Luca family at any occasion.
The day the formal decision arrived, Maria read it and said only one thing:
“Make her face the consequences, but don’t let anyone touch Milo.”
I wrote those words into my response to the lawyers.
Luca had already arranged Milo’s school and housing. He no longer sat in the heir’s seat, and entire streets no longer cleared when he passed. But every day at three in the afternoon, he was there at the school gate.
Once, through a car window, I saw Milo run toward him.
Luca crouched and carefully tied the boy’s shoelace.
The price he paid would not be erased by kindness.
But when a person finally learns not to pass his mistakes down to the next generation, that, too, is a small piece of rightness—however late—in a long disaster.